


While Our Blood's Still Young

by AllThisSalt



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bidding Wars, Exestentialism, F/F, For funsies, Modern AU, No Smut, Unhelpful Author, other tags to be added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-11-07 18:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThisSalt/pseuds/AllThisSalt
Summary: Lexa owns a gym and has never met her neighbor. Other things happen.





	1. The Laws of Physics Actively Work Against Me.

**Author's Note:**

> Art mimics life, so my commentary will usually be nugatory and unhelpful.

Dearest reader, perhaps you’ve heard the saying ‘missing the forest for the trees’. While a rather handy saying it does not take into account the most crucial of details: circumstance. Because life is not typically a casual walk in the woods wherein one is simply unaware of the fact they are in a forest. No, sometimes the forest is on fire. And what might have once been a verdant landscape of peace and tranquillity suddenly becomes a chaotic death maze- not unlike a clown funhouse on Halloween. One becomes so invested in avoiding being trapped underneath or impaled by some flaming branch of doom they fail to realize the world is just that. The point is, life often requires a focus that does not permit a larger view of even the more fantastical things within it. Such was the case of an aspiring young entrepreneur named Lexa.

The first time Lexa saw her neighbor was two years after she moved in. It hadn’t been that Lexa had doubted someone lived there at some point, as there were occasionally noises and bumps that alerted her to the presence of another person. But they were few and far between, and life had a way of demanding Lexa’s attention so that little details- like who actually lived in the apartment across from hers- fell to the wayside. In her defense, she had a lot on her plate. Between the negotiations she was in the middle of to take over a few other gyms in the area and keeping on top of the renovations her own were undergoing, she was barely focused on keeping herself fed. It was a bad habit of hers that, as bad habits do, dearest reader, evolved into a behavior. Like breathing, Lexa threw herself into whatever goal she set toward, becoming so singularly focused that she missed the forest fire. 

And so it was that one night, after having stayed late to get in a workout and look over the most recent contracts of new members, Lexa was fumbling for her keys, hidden somewhere in the bookbag she always carried when she went out. As a creature of habit she normally placed them in the same spot each time, a small pouch in the main pocket. Amidst the exhaustion she’d incurred from running home to round out the workout though, they had slipped out, into the less organized body of the bookbag. She stopped when she heard a distinct click of a door being unlocked, and looked to her right as the door to the apartment across the hall from hers opened.

It was pitch black but the interior was the last thing on Lexa's mind. There was a woman standing in the doorway, around Lexa’s age, she assumed. Her blonde hair was mussed as though she’d just gotten up from a long nap, full lips parted in a yawn to reveal straight white teeth. When Lexa’s gaze traveled downwards, she could see the woman was wearing a distressed tank top that showed hints of sunkissed ribs, a white bra, and the curve of a hip. Beyond that, she wore...nothing, Lexa realized with a start. Well, almost nothing. She wasn’t wearing pants, which showed off strong thighs that curved into toned calves that ended in a pair of brown leather boots. The woman ceased to yawn and smacked her lips a few times before eyes the color of the resting sea opened up and settled on her. 

The woman looked like she might say something, then looked down as though realizing there was more of a breeze than there should have been. Noting the distinct lack of pants, she simply said, “Fuck.” 

The single vulgarity came in a voice that Lexa wasn’t expecting. Husky, with a kind of low rasp to it, almost like she smoked, though Lexa imagined that was more from just waking up. At least, she hoped so. The blonde repeated the word with the same blase tone and a frustrated sounding sigh. Through the haze of thoughts that the woman in front of her was extremely attractive, Lexa considered that she was taking the lack of pants rather well."This always happens-” The blonde muttered before she turned abruptly and slammed the door behind her, though not before Lexa got a view of the grey boyshorts she’d been wearing and the impression that this was not the first time the blonde had endured the very situation she’d walked away from.

Lexa blinked once and resumed looking for her keys, eventually finding them and unlocking her door as though in a trance. The kind of trance one found themselves in when they saw something so unbelievable it tore at the fabric of reality like seeing a cat walking a dog or an extremely attractive woman who had, by some blessing or curse, appeared without pants on to the very gay Lexa. Who was the disarming woman who’d almost walked out of her apartment without pants? When had she moved in? Why was Lexa questioning it instead of doing the adult thing and introducing herself? 

Lexa turned around to do just that but stopped herself. She was sweaty, clad in a tank top and leggings. Surely that wasn’t the way to introduce herself to a neighbor. But then again she hadn’t seen her before, so maybe she worked at night and there was no other time to talk to her? And what if she was so embarrassed by Lexa seeing her without pants on that she didn’t want to look at her, never mind become acquainted with her? Lexa opened her door just as the blonde walked out again, her hair brushed to tame waves the color of healthy wheat. She wore stonewashed grey pants this time and gave Lexa a quick nod before closing her door and walking down the hallway without another word. So much, Lexa thought, for introductions. 

She went back into her apartment and leaned against her door with a quiet sigh. There was a gentle padding of paws on carpet as Titus, Lexa’s tan pitbull, wandered over to her, sniffing at her face and effectively pulling her out of her trance when he licked her cheek. “Alright, I get it, water,” She told the dog. In her pocket, her phone buzzed with a call from her cousin, Anya. She picked up and said, “Lexa.” 

“We’ve got a problem.” 

“What is it now?” Lexa asked. 

“It’s one of the gyms. Well, not 'one', that would imply anyone else was putting up a fucking struggle. It's Azgeda. They’re being difficult.” 

“What? How- I thought negotiations with Nia were going fine?!” Lexa hung her key up on the metallic rack beside the door and moved to the kitchen to get a cold water. The two-bedroom, two-bathroom place was tidy, organized if somewhat spartan in terms of the lack of decoration as well as the modern styling of the furniture that was comprised of clean lines, open space, and geometry. Lexa preferred to keep things that way, though. It kept her mind clear and gave her room to work out her frustration when it wasn’t. The fact that it saved her money on furniture and decorations to the place was a bit of a side bonus. 

“Yeah, well, that’s fucked. She’s backing out and using her son as a mouthpiece.” 

“For what?!” Lexa asked, slamming the fridge door closed. 

“I don’t know? Azgeda’s been bass-ackwards ever since Nia took over and, honestly, I’m surprised you agreed to do anything with her.” 

Lexa’s jaw clenched. She hadn’t had the money to make Nia an offer previously. It was only with recent popularity and a good new years resolution crowd that she’d been able to start making offers to buy new properties and, in turn, negotiate for other gyms to join under a new brand, one that would get them all money without sacrificing customer satisfaction for an edge over profits. Of course, Nia had to be the difficult one. “So what has Roan told you?” 

“They want more money, more sway in the Coalition when we rebrand.” 

“That’s insane- we’re already offering more than they made in the last year and we made it clear that everyone was getting the same shares. If we cave to her it shows favoritism at best and weakness at worst.” 

“Well... rumor has it The Mountain’s been offering up a better contract than you.”

“So they’re trying to expand here,” Lexa grumbled. That was perfect- the last thing she needed to deal with apart from Nia was competition from the Mountain- another corporate gym. 

“What do we do, then?” Anya asked. 

“Keep trying to get in touch with Nia- that’s all we can do apart from wait until she goes bankrupt, but I’d rather not see all the Azgeda workers suffer for her pride. Keep an eye on those 'Mountain' rumors- if they get a foothold here it won't matter how good of a year we have.” 

“And Roan?” 

“I refuse to speak with him, personally, but maybe there’s some kind of angle he’s working through Nia. They’re both manipulative so if we were just caught in the middle of some stupid game of 4-D chess it wouldn’t surprise me.” 

“We’ll look into it. Indra says you might want to put aside your grudge against him if it turns out we can use him. Well, she actually said you should stop being a baby about talking to him but I thought she valued her employment."

“Tell her when she quits smoking I’ll consider it. I’ve gotta go to sleep so I can deal with this in a few hours.” 

“You can’t- you’ve got that meeting with Arkadia.” Another gym that wanted to partner with the Coalition. Though it was small it hosted better equipment, better trainers. They couldn't charge a reasonable price to keep members, though. So when Lexa came in with an offer, they’d been hesitant, giving her almost as much of a headache as Nia. However they were eager to see their business continue, so they eventually agreed and had been tame as kittens about the negotiations since. 

Lexa pinched the bridge of her nose. “Anya, if I die because of a pile of paperwork falling on me then you get Titus.” 

“I don’t want your dog- he shit on my carpet and it's never been the same. And what good are all those pushups and squats if you can’t get yourself out of a pile of contracts you requested filled out in triplicate?” 

Lexa wished Anya a good night and finished getting Titus his water before she sat down on the cold tile of her kitchen floor to drink hers as well. There’d been many nights that she found herself in that position. Sometimes she thought it was her and Titus against it all- after all, the dog hadn’t made what should’ve been a simple gym purchase unnecessarily complex. The dog hadn’t doubted her every move when she decided she wanted to go into the fitness industry. The dog…had made a mess on the floor of the water he’d thirstily lapped up. Typical Titus, Lexa thought, always making messes. He kept his head in the bowl as Lexa wiped up the puddle he'd made, leaving a towel underneath for if he became thirsty later in the night. 

All in all, with only a few ripples in her otherwise humdrum day, things had been normal. The thing about ripples, though, dear reader, is that they occasionally fall prey to the annoying behavior of evolving into tidal waves. Perhaps, had Lexa known the tidal wave those ripples would become, she would’ve kept her key in a more easily accessible place. Perhaps she might’ve never moved into that apartment at all. In fact, had she lived two doors down on the opposite side of the hall there was a strong chance she never would’ve encountered the problem to begin with. But those are meditations for another time, and our story is only in its infancy. Now, perhaps the first indicator that things were on fire for Lexa post the ‘no pants’ occurrence was when she met the owner of Arkadia.


	2. Only Tragedies, No Sin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone left a kudos. My editor doesn't think it's healthy to encourage my ego. Or maybe she said madness? I wasn't listening.

There are a number of inherently human expressions that can be communicated across most cultural or social barriers, dearest reader. Power, wealth, want, that awkward shuffle one does when they need to pee, for example. As Lexa sat in the director’s office of Arcadia Gym, she could see that from the design, the high-end furniture, the state of the art machines, even the uniform of the trainers screamed wealth, with a kind of professional promise of success. But through the ceiling to ground windows, Lexa could also see a scant clientele that communicated a lack of want. With the formation of the Coalition and the sign-on bonuses Lexa had been pushing to pull in new blood, Arcadia’s membership had dwindled, with Lexa making a more than fair offer to buy their services. She popped her neck as she waited to meet the owner, dressed more formally than she cared to be. Anya was at her side in a charcoal pencil skirt and a white blouse, her makeup as sharp as the taps of her fingers against her phone screen as she texted someone. 

They sat next to each other in high backed leather chairs, Lexa’s long legs clad in fitted black slacks crossed over one another while she idly played with a pen in between her fingers. She focused when the door opened and an older woman with blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail walked in. She was dressed in a white lab coat typical of doctors and took it off to hang by the door before saying, “Miss Woods. A pleasure to see you and Anya again.” 

Now, dearest reader, Lexa had an acute sense for when someone was bullshitting their pleasantries and Abigail Griffin had managed to create the equivalent of a years’ worth of compost with the offhand greeting. It was no secret she didn't like Lexa. But, then again, a lot of people had similar opinions. 

Lexa cleared her throat and replied, "Likewise, Doctor." 

Abigail moved to a minifridge next to her desk, removing a shaker full of a viscous red liquid that Lexa assumed was either a berry smoothie or something with beets- personally she couldn't stand the vegetable. She said, "You'll have to forgive me, I haven't really had time to eat lately with all the new customers our association has sent." 

Her tone made it clear that so many people desiring physical therapy was not a welcome change. Lexa replied, "The rise in clientele is not the exclusive doing of Trikru. Since we've been expanding it only seemed fair that all members were informed of the services we had available. Apart from that, you have it on your gym's mission page that-"

Abigail held up a hand and sifted through her desk drawer, taking out a packet of what Lexa assumed was protein powder and dumped it into the smoothie, shaking it a bit before setting it aside. "I'm aware of what my goals were when I started Arkadia. I thought they would work hand in hand- medicine, physical therapy, and a gym to promote a healthy lifestyle." 

"But?" Lexa said. 

Abigail sighed. "It's complicated. I'm a doctor, a healer. Not a saleswoman. The workload, the long hours, the constant swapping between how I act, I'm sure you can understand. At least somewhat."

Lexa understood- it was hard to juggle multiple aspects of one's life. What she hadn't understood and never voiced to Abigail was how Arkadia hadn't been a success. Money didn't seem to be a concern for Abigail. In fact, nothing seemed to be a concern for her. Even in the midst of their meeting she seemed bored, like her mind was elsewhere. Lexa might've argued Abigail just didn't care, but how hard she'd fought to ensure all of her employees and members had a place said otherwise. 

"Well, I'm sure you know the purpose of our being here today," Anya said, taking a pile of papers from her messenger bag. "These are the final copies of the contract. I've highlighted where you need to sign and you'll have to copy that over onto the others. You can take your time to read through and make sure everything's as we've ironed out." 

Abigail nodded and took one of the contracts as she drank her smoothie, the contents much looser. Lexa looked around the office, spotting three degrees and nothing else in the way of adornment. No pictures of her loved ones, no posters or promotional materials, the place was more empty than Lexa's apartment and that was, dearest reader, a high bar to overcome indeed. With surprising speed, Abigail finished reading the contracts and said, "It looks fine. You've guaranteed all current staff employed will have employment with you."

"I feel the Coalition will need everyone to support it but I respect their choice to leave if they do so," Lexa said.  
"Not much of a choice, is it? What percentage of gyms will you own in a fifty-mile radius when all's said and done?" Abigail huffed. 

"That's not the concern," Lexa brushed off the answer. 

"You claiming a monopoly on the physical health industry isn't a concern?" Abigail challenged. Lexa met her gaze, intense blue eyes that reminded her of a pair she'd seen not so long ago. Abigail scoffed and broke Lexa's gaze first. "No, it's not," She seemingly answered her own question as she signed the contracts. 

"Do you think you'll stay when Arkadia becomes a part of the Coalition?" 

“Possibly. Like I said, I’m a healer, not a leader. Once someone better takes the role I might just move on to focus on an established practice." 

"Shame," Lexa said, creating a compost pile of her own. Though she had her own...professional disagreements with Abigail as a Director, she imagined Abigail as a doctor was different. She wasn't blind to the fact that the kind of passion she had towards helping others could've been useful if turned to the proper direction. "Done," Abigail said, stacking the contracts in a neat pile before sliding it across the desk. 

"Arkadia will need to undergo some renovations to put give it a more unified look with the Coalition. In the meantime, I’ll need all of your membership contracts so that we can add them to the Coalition’s database and get started on the process of conversion. Your members will be able to go to any of the locations that the Coalition is obtaining while the renovations happen," Lexa informed Abigail while Anya slid the paper in her bag. 

"We don't have contracts. Paper contracts, anyway. I wanted to streamline that process. If you have concerns about memberships, you'll have to talk to Raven. She handles electronics around here. I'll set things up with her so that you have access to our records." 

"That helps," Lexa said, glad that she wouldn't have to fill out a thousand more pieces of paper. "Do you have any concerns you want to voice about this partnership?" 

Abigail leaned back in her seat and took another drink of her smoothie, glancing at Anya before she looked back at Lexa. 

"Anya, would you give us a moment?" Lexa asked. 

Anya nodded and took her things with her, leaving Lexa alone with Abigail. She noted, "Your people are very loyal." 

Lexa toyed with her pen once more, saying, "I try to earn my people's respect." 

Abigail drank a bit more of her smoothie before saying, "I'll be blunt, Lexa. I don't like you. You’re young, frankly too young to be instigating an aggressive takeover of anyone’s business. You're exceedingly pushy, and anything that doesn't bow out of your way is trampled." 

"Well," Lexa stilled the pen so she could focus on Abigail. "I'll be blunt as well, Doctor Griffin. Do you have any legitimate complaints or are you going to tell me the same thing I've heard no fewer than fifteen times since I started trying to create the Coalition?" 

She’d heard the tired tirade so often that, had she let Abigail continue, she could’ve guessed word for word what she would say next, if not the spirit of what she had to say. 

Abigail reclined in her chair. “I only say this as someone who’s been in business for a long time- it would behoove you to mind who you cross and the loads you take on.” 

“I wasn’t aware I’d crossed you in any way during this transaction.” Lexa also wasn't aware of anyone she associated with who used words like 'behoove' in any conversation but she let that tidbit slide. 

Abigail shrugged. “That would be part of being a professional, Lexa. That your own insecurities or scruples don’t show.” Scruples? The thought crossed Lexa's mind that the doctor's vocabulary mirrored the bullshit fluff words she used to sound smarter when she wrote essays in college. It sounded pretentious, and Abigail either did it unconsciously or purposefully to sound better than anyone she talked to. Either way, Lexa could feel a headache forming from talking with Abigail and her patience for doing so was wearing thinner by the nanosecond. 

"I would encourage you to take your own advice, Doctor. Because from where I'm sitting, you've contractually bowed out of my way. I respect that you built Arkadia with your own funds, from nothing, but now it's in my hands. If that's everything," She stood up. "I sincerely hope you have a good day, Doctor Griffin." 

Abigail did the most curious thing to Lexa's curt parting words. She smiled. It was the sort a cat would have if it could form the expression before it murdered some animal. There was a kind of emphasis on the 'murder' aspect since the smoothie had given the good doctor's lips a dark red tint that only added to the whole malignant effect. Lexa left, only to find Anya next to a Hispanic woman with long hair, light brown eyes, and about three forty-five pound plates in one of her hands that she held with enough ease to stand casually while she spoke with Anya. An impressive feat considering her wiry build. When she noticed Lexa, she gave a quick, friendly smile and said, "Lexa, always nice to see you. Considering nothing's been destroyed, I guess everything with Abby went well?" 

"It went fine," Lexa replied, brushing off the hostility from their discussion. "Does she mind you calling her 'Abby'?"

"Eh, even if she did she couldn't stop me. We go way back- she's basically my proxy Mom. All the disapproval in my life choices without the hassle of raising me." 

"And yet you have a job at her gym," Anya noted. 

"Well, she needed someone who could re-rack weights and operate all of her computers. I'm basically the whole, underpaid, underappreciated package." 

"Didn't you blow something up the last time we were here trying to make a homemade espresso?" Anya asked. 

"A side effect of underpaid genius is often unintentional property damage." 

"What do you suppose that says about Titus?" Lexa asked Anya. 

"That he still shit on my carpet and my only regret is that I can't get him neutered twice." 

"Do you really hate dogs that much?" Raven asked, concerned. 

"No, just hers. Every time he's at my place he pisses on something or tears something else up. Like the rug grandmother gave me before she died." 

Lexa cleared her throat and, to preferably divert the focus away from dead relatives, said, "Well, I look forward to working with you and all of Arkadia's members." 

"Oh, sure, but ah...you can probably expect more Abby's," Raven said. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Arkadia's membership's tighter than that one pickle jar you can never open. A lot of people aren't happy about the merger." 

"Well. That's...good to hear?" Lexa said, not certain how to respond to Raven's observation that she was probably universally disliked around the gym.

"Don't worry about it. They'll come around, eventually. Probably. For sure maybe-ah!” Raven’s pitiful attempts to console Lexa were interrupted by Anya smacking her arm. 

“It’s fine, Raven.” It was not fine, dearest reader. “I’ve got to go look over the other contracts today if there’s nothing else,” Lexa said. She did but she was going to go on a long run with Titus instead. And then she would make herself a bowl of cereal while she watched a documentary about space. And then she would set aside six hours or so to look at the contracts and actually get work done before she had to tour around the next day to other gym locations to check on renovations and handle any customer concerns. As if sensing Lexa’s distress by virtue of being family or, well, having developed observational skills, Anya asked, “You want me to come help?” 

“No, I’ll be fine,” Lexa said. “You should stay here, work off any frustration.” 

“Work out frustration you say?” Raven asked with a villainous eyebrow wiggle.

“Don’t you have plates to re-rack?” Anya asked Raven. 

“I mean eventually, yeah, but I’m pretty comfortable here,” Raven said. Anya smacked her on the arm and she walked away, snickering under her breath. 

“Gremlin,” Anya muttered. “You should take some time to yourself, too, Lexa. Go out, have a few drinks. You’ve been nonstop since you came to me and told me you were going to make the Coalition a reality.” 

Lexa recalled that day. Truthfully she’d been giving it thought ever since she opened Trikru Gym. She’d known there would be a lot of work ahead of her, but she told Anya she was going to make the Coalition happen, and looking back, she was making it happen. Even if she was finding it to be more exhausting than she’d expected. “I’ll...think about it,” Lexa promised weakly. She gave Anya a parting wave and turned to leave when she slammed into a man with dark eyes who was a good foot taller than her. His nametag read ‘Jasper’ and he looked...sad. From the way his mouth was set in a frown along a stubble lined jaw, to the general aura he had around him, kind of like an abandoned toy store but not quite a graveyard. 

“I’m…” Lexa began but found that whatever she meant to say vanished from her mind. 

“Alexandra Woods. Jasper Jordan,” He said, moving the armful of towels he’d been carrying from the front to his side to offer his hand up for a shake. 

“I was going to say ‘sorry’ but, yes. I’m Lexa.” 

When she shook his hand she felt cold, frigid to be exact, with a burning sensation along her throat. Lexa could feel her chest constricting, the air in her lungs like razors until Jasper dropped his hand and said, “Good grip, clean diet.”

“I…” Lexa began. 

“Jasper! Holy shit, you met Lexa!” Raven said, appearing out of nowhere to half tackle, half-hug the man with a smile that seemed too wide. 

“Yeah,” Jasper said. “She likes cinnamon.” 

“I never said-” Lexa began. 

“Jasper’s gotta take the clean towels back, don’t you Jasper?” Raven said, pushing him to walk away while Lexa stood still, confused while the conflicting feelings of cold and warmth ebbed to homeostasis. Raven came back and said, “Sorry about that, Jasper’s a bit...intense.” 

“Yeah, uh...I think I’m just going to go home,” Lexa said, moving towards the door. 

“Good, great, I’ll get those files to you as soon as possible!” Raven chirped, still too happy. Lexa drove home in something of a daze, forgetting to walk Titus in favour of collapsing into her bed as the phrase ‘she likes cinnamon’ echoed in her thoughts. At least until unconsciousness quickly claimed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were some spelling errors. My apologies- our production value has since increased from 0 to 0².


	3. I Can't Evil Laugh After a Mile Run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We stan the oxford comma in this house.

Lexa came to only when Titus had grown weary of her ignoring his walk schedule. When she forced her eyes open and looked at the alarm clock, she saw that it was two in the morning. Licking her dry lips, she climbed out of bed, a headache searing against the back of her skull. Dedicated as she was to fitness, Titus’ walk would have to be just that- a walk rather than a brisk jog. When she checked her phone, she could see she’d missed about four calls from Anya, two calls from Indra, several messages, three emails- she tossed her phone back on the bed with a groan. She hadn’t gotten any work done on the contracts. Each day she put it off was another day it would take to get everything straightened- and she was working with a deadline. She decided to seriously consider hiring someone to help her out as she put Titus’ harness on. When she walked out, she spared a glance at her neighbour’s door before locking her own and heading out for the walk her dog so desired. 

It was weeks before Lexa saw the blonde again. Sometimes she would linger outside her door, fumbling for her keys despite that she made a point of knowing exactly where they were outside of the time she saw her. Other times she would walk out for a late workout, or come back in from one. She’d reasoned that they were just because her schedule was hectic, that it had nothing to do with the blonde. Eventually, though, burning curiosity turned into placid acceptance that the meeting was, more likely than not, a fluke. Lexa felt a bit like a dog chasing its tail- she wouldn’t know what to do with it even if she caught it. What would she have said to the woman? ‘Remember that time I saw you half-naked’? Lexa internally chastised herself for thinking anything could’ve come from bumping into her again, and resigned herself to go about her life as she had before the blonde, like a comet, had blazed into it. 

That was, of course, until the day she was standing in the hallway, sending out a last-minute text to Anya about some matter or another when the blonde walked out of her apartment, closed the door behind her, and walked down the hall. Lexa was struck by a few factors- that she was fully clothed, that the air had taken on the heady scent of vanilla, and that the blonde hadn’t locked her door. And, of course, being the smooth metaphorical slayer of women that she was, one can assume which detail she focused on. 

“You should lock your door,” Lexa said. 

The blonde stopped mid-stride, popping her shoulders with a slow stretch that ended with her arms folded behind her head. Lexa caught sight of a watch on her wrist before she turned to face the brunette, quickly tucking her hands into the pockets of her loose, blue cardigan. “Pardon?” She asked, as though she hadn’t heard Lexa’s comment. 

“Your door,” Lexa said, pointing to it. “You should lock it.” 

Everything about her was slow, not quite calculated but not quite ‘drugged on elephant tranquilizers’. Even the amused smirk that ticked up at the corners of the blonde’s lips did so in that fashion. “Why? Are you planning on stealing from me, miss…” Her voice drifted off, the void expectant of a name.

“Lexa,” Lexa replied. 

“Clarke,” The blonde exchanged. 

“And, no, I wasn’t planning on stealing from you.” 

“You certainly watch my door enough to be suspect number one if any ‘unplanned larceny’ happens.” 

Lexa frowned, not sure if she was more disappointed in Clarke or herself in being caught. “Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke.” 

“Well, I did almost leave my place without pants. You’re not exactly dealing with Einstein.” After a few moments, she added, "Look, my apartment's pretty secure and I'm a big girl- I eat potassium and everything. Appreciate the concern, but I think I'll pass."

"So you're not worried about someone just breaking in?"

"Nope," Clarke said, popping the 'p'. 

Dearest reader, no one deserves to be robbed, but there are some people who tempt fate. Like mixing alcohol with illegal Chinese fireworks or alcohol with illegal cage fights with bears, or alcohol with...well, any number of illegal activities. Lexa simply shrugged and said, "Alright," before locking her own door. If Clarke wanted to be robbed, it was well within her own right to open herself up to someone else's lack of right to robbery. If that makes sense. 

Lexa moved to leave as Clarke asked, “So why do you do it?” 

“What?” Lexa asked. 

“Watch my door. Hoping to catch a look again?” Clarke asked with a sardonic smile. 

And truth be told, dearest reader, Lexa didn’t know what compelled her to look as often as she had. Clarke walking out without pants on wouldn’t have been unwelcome per se, but she found herself more compelled with the idea of the blonde whose existence she’d been totally unaware of for the longest time, and the unprecedented sway she held over her. Because on the surface Clarke was certainly attractive enough, but there was something in her eyes and the way she carried herself. Something Lexa had seen in herself. 

“No,” Lexa eventually answered. “I was curious about something. I’m not anymore.” 

Clarke’s smile slipped away as she drawled, “Glad to be of service,” before giving Lexa a mocking two-fingered salute and walking away. Lexa watched after her for a few moments, recognizing what it was in the blonde that mirrored her. A kind of subtle darkness in her eyes, like some ancient leviathan slumbering under calm tides. Clarke was a curiosity but Lexa imagined that was by design. She walked out of the hallway to go to Trikru gym where Anya was waiting with a group of contractors to discuss how the collective renovations were coming along and what Lexa planned to change. 

Of course, she found herself bored senseless. 

She cursed the fact that she hadn’t just ditched the meeting. Anya and Indra knew her vision, and were more than capable of passing along the idea. But then again, they were just lawyers. It wasn’t fair for them to do more for her than they already had. Disregarding the fact that Anya was family, she was only overseeing things from a legal perspective or passing the matter off to someone who could answer the question for her- calling in favors from other lawyers.

“Is that a ‘no’ on the raised cardio deck?” Anya’s voice cut through her thoughts, forcing Lexa back to reality. 

Lexa glanced at the design, recalled the flow of conversation, and replied, “No, no raised cardio deck. People are going to be running, biking, the last thing I want to worry about is one of them stepping down after ten miles and face planting.”

“If they’re using the machines they’ve already signed a waiver. They can’t sue,” Anya retorted. “And it gives you the ability to run wiring safely under people as opposed to having it exposed where they can trip on it.”  
Lexa leaned her cheek against her knuckles thoughtfully. “A fair point but we can’t guarantee that everyone’s signed a waiver and wires will be exposed anyway. Worst comes to worst we can always install it later.”  
Anya shrugged and nodded at the contractor to continue.

When the meeting was done, Lexa walked out to the gym to stretch her legs, Anya close on her heels. “You alright?” She asked. 

“Fine, just feeling a bit burnt out.” 

“It shows. Have you considered taking time off?” 

“No. Have you managed to get in touch with Nia?” 

“Yeah, but she’s off in the Alps for a skiing competition.” 

“And I’ll guess she left Roan in charge,” Lexa dryly noted. “She’s delaying it, trying to get us to either withdraw the offer or do what she wants.” 

“Roan refuses to talk to anyone but you.” 

Lexa crossed her arms, stared at the room where one of the trainers, Lincoln, led the free biweekly self-defence class Lexa had started. She’d had to take a step back from it since negotiations began, but he was competent enough to lead it. She found herself wishing she could blow off some steam with a good spar, but it would be hard to act professional while her jaw was brusied. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lexa murmured. 

“Have you gone back to Arkadia since your meeting with Abigail?” 

“No, haven’t needed to. Raven got me the files.” She was secretly thankful she wouldn’t have to go back there, if not to avoid Abigail, then to avoid Jasper. 

“You should take the rest of the day to yourself. Raven, Monty, and I can handle sorting through the memberships for a day or two,” Anya offered. 

“Anya, I couldn’t ask-”

“So don’t. Just go home and watch one of your documentaries,” She urged Lexa with a slight smile.

Lexa eventually sighed, “Alright. Take it easy today. And try not to hit Raven. Or hit on Raven. Or be hit on by Raven.” 

Anya scoffed. “The idea never crossed my mind.” 

“Which one?” 

“No need to worry about that, cousin,” Anya determined, heading back to Indra to discuss the update for the day while Lexa went home. 

She walked up the usual four flights of stairs, past the elevator and the inspirational poster of a puppy that was, in all actuality, just a picture of a puppy that said ‘Believe’ but Lexa guessed it was in some fashion inspirational to whoever saw fit to put it there. Things were as usual so Lexa went about her business as usual, stopping outside her door to get her key when she noticed something peculiar. The peculiar observation, dearest reader, was that Clarke’s door was slightly ajar. 

Now, dearest reader, there’s something to be said about minding one’s own damn business and Lexa had been fully prepared to embrace that old adage that had saved many a teen from falling prey to the classic ‘Eldritch Horror Possession’ gag. Or she might’ve if she hadn’t heard a crash, followed by an evil hiss and a very masculine yelp. Lexa threw the door open in time to see a man stumble backwards over a couch, while a yowling ball of fury attacked his face. 

"Fuck!" He shouted as he pulled off his furry assailant from his face, throwing it across the room. Lexa didn't think- the beginning of most unfortunate situations- she ran in. Dearest reader, perhaps you expected a being of such grace, such refined combative elegance as Lexa was to swoop in with the combined terror and majesty of a harpy eagle to save the day. You would be wrong. She tripped over a blanket that had been haphazardly thrown in front of the door. The result, dearest reader, was an uncontrolled full-body tackle into the already unstable man that sent him crashing into a table, then to the floor. 

Lexa was slightly dazed, having hit her head on an overturned end table corner that left a cut over her left eyebrow, blood slowly oozing out if it. Despite the rough beginning, the fact that she was likely concussed and that she had spectacularly blown any element of surprise, she recovered. Well, ‘recovered’ is a stretch unto itself. More like she stumbled to her knees and regained lucidity at a moderately faster rate than the man. Running off muscle instinct and adrenaline, she grappled the man into a chokehold and commenced squeezing. Her jaw stung as he punched at her face, pulled at her hair, scratched helplessly, anything to get her to let go. Lexa could taste blood, saw stars flash in the field of red that constituted her vision with each successful hit, but it only made her grip tighter, her father's voice echoing in her thoughts as he methodically explained what would happen to the human body deprived of oxygen as each second passed. She didn't want to kill the man or cause permanent brain damage so she waited until he began to slump before releasing him. 

While he gasped for air, she scrambled to her feet and, using all the force she could muster, kicked the man in the jaw. Which, regardless of the force she could or could not muster, was extremely uncomfortable since she’d worn boots that day. He fell over, silent and unconscious while Lexa, catching her breath, stumbled backwards to lean against a wall. It occurred to her only after the adrenaline had ebbed that she had no idea who this man was- only that she'd just beaten him to unconsciousness for supposedly breaking into an apartment that wasn't his. Or maybe it was. She ran her fingers through her hair to try to calm down as a light flipped on. 

Clarke stood in the doorway, her laundry under one arm and a bag of groceries under another with bananas peeking from the top. Taking in the unconscious body, the mess of her apartment, and a bloodied Lexa leaning against the wall, she gave a quiet sigh as a tan cat with a long face hopped into her shoulders, giving a loud meow of disapproval. 

"Fuck,” She sighed dropping the laundry basket in favor of lightly scratching the side of the cat’s jaw as she took in the scene. “There’s always something, Bellamy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the encouragement. Even if I'm being sarcastic most of the time, I appreciate the kind words. Pray for my editor- there's nothing wrong with her she just sleeps 19 hours a day.


	4. I Forgot You Told Me That About Her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dramatic irony is killing me. But then again, so does a lack of water.

“So is an indecent amount of property damage a normal thing with you or…?" Clarke prodded as a pool cue slammed into a billiard ball. They sat in a bar, Lexa holding the towel-covered ice to her head with a jack and coke next to her left hand. Clarke sat dressed in the same attire she’d worn when they’d spoken earlier in the day, unharmed and nonplussed. She sipped at a water, her eyes settling on Lexa after she took a long sip of her own drink. Clarke had called the cops and Lexa had been questioned thoroughly before Clarke insisted on taking her to a hospital. Once the police were out of the way, whatever facade the blonde had put up fell away and she’d taken them to a bar at the corner of the neighborhood. She’d asked Lexa what she usually drank and got her about four of them. Or five. Lexa had lost count. 

“_Shof up,_” Lexa muttered. 

“I’m sorry?” Clarke asked.

“That’s a curious way to pronounce, ‘thank you for stopping exactly what you said would happen’.”

“That’s a more curious way to pronounce ‘shut the hell up’.” 

“Maybe because I didn’t say shut the hell up.” The spirit of it had certainly been in her words, dearest reader, but those were semantics. And no one talks about those. 

“And I don’t recall saying ‘thank you’. Do you know how much that end table was worth to me- before it had your blood all over it?”

“Who was that man, Clarke?” Lexa asked, eager to change the subject before she strangled the blonde over an end table.

Clarke continued, “And that’s another thing- he could’ve been anyone. My Dad, my best friend, and you would’ve just charged in and attacked him.” 

Lexa threw back the contents of her drink before saying, “Excuse me for assuming that someone who would throw your cat against the wall after it attacked him probably isn’t a friend.” 

“He threw Bellamy?” Clarke asked, shock dominating her features. 

“Who was he, Clarke?” Lexa pressed. 

The blonde recovered quickly, saying, “No one. Some random burglar.” A very dead one, Lexa imagined, by the way Clarke’s hand tightened till her knuckles turned white. “You were right, I was wrong. Is that what you wanted to hear- what you like hearing?” Clarke asked as she signaled for another drink for the brunette. When it came to her, Lexa brought the cool condensation of the glass to rest against the cut on her head. Clarke had slapped a bandaid over it but it was doing little to alleviate the headache she had, and the dull throb it produced. 

"I want to hear a thank you but I'll be happy with silence."

And so it was that Clarke fell silent. Lexa finished off her drink, shaking her head when Clarke began to motion for another one. “Go check on your cat, Clarke. I know you care about it more and I can walk to the hospital from here.” 

“Lexa, that seems like a really stupid idea, and I’m well acquainted with those.”

“Let me be clear, then. I would rather force myself to walk four blocks, probably concussed and moderately drunk, rather than spend another moment in your company being insulted for trying to just be decent.” 

Clarke stared at the bar, her fist loosening as her features softened. “Fine,” She said. 

Lexa moved to take out her wallet and realized that she’d left her bag, along with her wallet, in Clarke’s room. Clarke seemed to notice her dilemma and stood up, saying, “I’ll take care of it.” 

She walked over to the pool table with a slight sway to her hips while two men who’d been previously playing finished setting up the balls. She muttered something to one of the men, who grinned and passed her the pool cue. "So how does this work?” Clarke asked, her voice sounding slightly higher than normal, her eyelashes fluttering. Lexa leaned against a high table, thinking idly that the men stood no chance. 

"Usually you call your shots, but we’ll slim it down for you. The only shot you gotta call is the eightball. Don’t sink it unless you’re out of your type of ball. Need me to show you how to hold the stick?” He asked, then, quickly realizing what he said, stuttered over his words to try to correct it. Clark took the pool cue silently and examined the table for a solid three seconds. 

She called, “Eightball corner left pocket,” and with a single movement, the cue cracked against the white ball, shooting it at the neat triangle formation. The balls swirled around, moving into their respective holes, until the eight ball, the last one, neatly fell into the corner pocket she’d pointed to. Clarke put down the pool cue and said, "I believe that's the game," to the gobsmacked man. While he went to the bar to pay for their drinks, Clarke walked back over to Lexa, the flirtatious mask gone in favor of a thoughtful expression. 

“How did you-” Lexa began. 

“Troubled youth. It’s more legal to hit pool balls than it is people.” 

“I can imagine,” Lexa replied shortly before walking out into the cold air. The diagnosis at the doctor's office was swift- Lexa had a concussion and was prescribed some over the counter medication for the headaches. The doctor, a nice enough man, recommended she take a few days to herself, with someone monitoring her condition on the first day to make sure her symptoms didn't worsen. Additionally, he warned Lexa that her cut would require sutures, so they would have to numb her. Lexa begrudgingly called Anya, telling her what had happened. When she arrived at the hospital she regarded Lexa with a concerned warmth- for her foul mouth and edges sharper than her eyeliner, Anya saw Lexa as a sister. And it meant more to Lexa than she could put into words. 

"Holy shit, Lexa,” Anya said as she took in her appearance. “You know I love you, right?” 

“Yes,” Lexa said slowly.

“So I hope you’ll take it to heart when I say, you’ve fucked up.” 

Lexa sighed and laid back as the doctor started on the cut. “A chokehold and a kick to the jaw- Lexa, do you think that’s excessive force that would constitute a lawsuit?”

“No,” Lexa answered without hesitation. “I should’ve given him a cut to match mine.” 

Anya sat down and sighed, arms crossed over her chest while the doctor went about his work. When he was done, he headed out to discuss something with a nurse, and Anya asked, “So why did you go charging in to handle something the police could’ve been called for?” 

Lexa didn’t get a chance to answer as Anya said, “You’re reckless, impulsive, hardheaded as fuck. Which probably worked out in your favor since you didn’t fracture anything.”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “It was one burglar, Anya.” 

“Where’d you get that ice pack?” She asked, looking at the towel wrapped pack Clarke had given her while the police asked about the incident. The tan color had been spoiled by dark blood that Clarke had regarded a few times throughout the questioning, likely secretly mourning the loss of a towel. Lexa couldn't find it in herself to care that she'd ruined it. 

“My neighbor gave it to me.” 

“The one whose house you saved?”

“Yes. She came in after the guy was unconscious.” 

“What if he was some vengeful boyfriend?”

“She said he wasn’t but I trust Clarke as far as I could throw her.” 

Anya shrugged. “Want me to sue her for criminal endangerment of your life?”

“No, I just really want to go home,” Lexa sighed. 

“Well, I have to swing by my place to get some clothes. It’ll be ten minutes max. Do you want me to drop you off or do you want to come with?” 

“No, I think I'll trip over something there, too. I can hang out at my place until you come back,” Lexa promised. Anya frowned at her but Lexa brushed off her concern. “I’m capable of staying awake longer than ten minutes.”

Having put her foot down, Anya took Lexa to her place, leaving her with the promise that she would return as quickly as possible. Lexa stood outside in the hall leaning against her door, head aching since the chill of the ice pack had melted with its contents. Clarke’s door opened, and she walked out, dressed in different clothes, her cat, a tan Abyssinian with dark eyes, wrapped around her shoulders, not unlike some sort of murderous scarf. Clarke, Lexa thought, looked comfortable. Soft, warm even. How peculiar since she was basically Satan. But Lexa digressed, focusing on the blonde to grumpily ask, "What do you want, Clarke?"

"I brought food, among other things," Clarke said, gesturing to the basket, as well as Lexa's personal belongings. 

Lexa's stomach growled, desperate for nourishment, but she recalled the way Clarke had treated her. And while her belly was empty her pride was full, so she said, "I can make my own food."

"Well d-" Clarke began, but the cat meowed and batted a paw at the blonde's nose. "Right," She sighed. "Look, I acted like a bitch. It wasn't fair to you, especially since you kept my place from getting robbed. I appreciate it and I want to make amends if possible." 

"So you're sorry about the end table comment? And everything you said at the bar?" Lexa asked, leaning against her door frame. 

"Yes," Clarke sighed. 

"I'm getting the sense you don't mean that."

"I'm pretty sure it's been no fewer than five years since I've apologized to anyone for anything so I'm very out of practice."

"Five years without a single apology? Sounds like you've burned a lot of bridges."

"Yeah, well, I happen to be an arsonist who makes great brownies," Clarke said with obvious pride, holding up the basket. 

Lexa, after some consideration, took it and said, "Thank you." She thought of what Clarke had said before about it being a 'random incident' and asked, "So...did he take anything?" 

"No, but I imagine that's thanks to you and Bellamy," Clarke said, petting the cat. He purred at her touch though Clarke wasn't inclined to pet him very long. "How did the doctor's visit go?" 

"Some over the counter medication and someone watching me for twenty four hours to make sure I don't die." 

"Oh. Well...I'm free for a day or so." 

"My cousin's taking care of it. She doesn't live all that far away." 

Clarke gave a quick smile and said, "Alright, take it easy, Woods."

"You too, Clarke," Lexa replied.

"Just knock if you need anything," Clarke gave that same two-fingered salute before heading back to her apartment. Lexa walked back in, placing the basket on the countertop as she went back and forth with herself about actually rifling through the contents of the basket or throwing it away. On the one hand, Clarke had disrespected her and her good deed- a fact the blonde had apologized for, or attempted to anyway. On the other hand, brownies. Her growling stomach decided for her, and she opened the basket. Inside was indeed a small Tupperware container of brownies, a pint of vanilla ice cream, a bottle of jack and a coke. A part of her wondered if Clarke was rubbing salt in the wound, but she decided to give the blonde the benefit if the doubt, since the other contents of the basket seemed benevolent enough. 

Though, Lexa considered as she placed the ice cream in the freezer, it did seem like Clarke was trying to give her diabetes. She took one of the brownies out while she went through her emails and messages, taking a thoughtful bite as she read a text from Anya that she was coming back.  
She was surprised to find Clarke had been right. They were damn good brownies with a hint of some sort of spice that made the chocolate seem to melt on her tongue. The flavor profile, to be a touch pretentious for a moment, dearest reader, made her moan. 

Of course, after that, the batch of brownies stood no chance. They were done before the hour was out. Of course, she felt like returning Clarke's Tupperware the same day she'd given it to her seemed odd. And she could arrange to give it to her on her own terms, perhaps when they were both friendlier. Anya walked in as Lexa washed the tupperware out and tossed her bag aside while Titus, his nub shaking, barked at the sight of her. She went to the kitchen and asked, “Jack and coke?” 

“It’s a gift.”

“From...Clarke?” 

“Yes.”

Lexa could feel Anya’s eyes boring into her back, the suspicion in the air as palpable as a freshly cut onion. “Okay,” Anya said, sitting down.

It was not okay, dearest reader. That single word from Anya’s lips could’ve started wars if the blonde were so inclined to use it in that manner. Lexa knew it wasn’t the end of it, because Anya would absolutely figure out what she wanted one way or another. So she sat down beside her on the couch with a bowl of pita chips and said, “Let it go, Anya.”

“What?”

“There’s nothing between me and Clarke.”

“I never said there was. Is she cute?” 

Lexa’s gaze narrowed at the blonde and she turned on the T.V. It almost slipped her mind entirely that she'd never told Clarke her last name was Woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard being this salty.


	5. Are You Not A Fucking Lemon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who need the encouragement, you can grow that beard.

Now, dearest reader, there is a strong likelihood that, at some point or another, you've had a violent nightmare. One that left you in cold sweats, grasping at your chest as your heartbeat impressively maintained the vivacissimo tempo. Lexa was experiencing a similar sensation as she stood outside of Clarke's door, entirely too nervous about returning Tupperware. Almost as if some higher power like her limbic system were dictating that she should be unreasonably afraid of Clarke. Lexa shook her head and knocked at the door. Inside, there was silence. Emphasis on 'was' dearest reader, because shortly after the knock there was a crash like thunder, followed by a loud meow, and a violent curse in a familiar, feminine voice. The door opened and Clarke, with Bellamy at her shoulders, said, "Oh, hey, Lexa."

"Is...everything alright?" Lexa asked. 

"Yeah, absolutely peachy. Just...trying a new recipe out. I guess they weren't kidding when they said this cobbler would be the bomb, huh?"

"Bombs are illegal, Clarke."

"Alright, killer, you've made your point. Your head doing better? I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy." As Clarke walked out into the hall, the air was filled with the odd scent of ozone, but it dissipated the minute Clarke's door was closed behind her and with it, Lexa's curiosity for its source. For the time being, anyway. 

Lexa gave a slight shrug. "I've had worse. But I'm curious- how'd you know my last name was Woods?" 

Clarke seemed surprised that Lexa had caught the detail and crossed her arms. "Oh. That. It's on your mail slot downstairs." 

Lexa recalled that detail- all of the mail slots required labels of the names of each person for the apartment. "  
"That makes...sense, actually."

"What? Did you think I was stalking you?" Clarke lightly taunted. 

"No, I guess it just seems weird because you didn't know my name when we met a few days ago."

"I'll be honest, I didn't check until...two days ago-ish while I was getting my mail. They're right next to each other and I was curious." 

"Well, what's your last name, then?"

"Griffin," Clarke replied. 

"Oh," Lexa said, distinctly recalling another Griffin that managed to make her life miserable. But Griffin was a fairly common name. Still, Lexa asked, "Do you know an Abigail Griffin?"

At the mention of her name, Clarke visibly stiffened, with Bellamy giving a low hiss. Lexa could relate. "How do you know that name?" Clarke asked. 

"She's the owner of a gym I'm buying."

Clarke scoffed, the previous tension in her posture bleeding into relaxed contempt as she scratched behind Bellamy's cheek idly. "Now I feel like I owe you a drink," She said. 

"You don't care for her?"

"My mother and I don't operate in the same circles. But honestly, I don't know what she was thinking- opening a gym."

"She said she wanted to help people,” Lexa bristled, having heard something similar in regards to her own desire to do so early on. 

"She says a lot of things," Clarke replied evenly. Lexa felt bad for bringing it up- she could relate to not liking one's family. Likely sensing where she might be drawing comparisons, Clarke was quick to assure the brunette, "You can relax, Lexa. She's not you. At least I hope she isn't."

"I try not to make a habit of moonlighting as your mother."

Clarke swiped at Lexa's arm with a wrinkle of her nose, "Ew- Lexa, that means you do it on occasion." 

"Well, your Mom aside, I have to go to work." 

"You're all good to go back?"

"Not exactly but some personal trainer's dealing with a new member who tried to deadlift four hundred and he's in the hospital, and now Anya's handling that, and the contractors need some creative oversight somewhere else, on top of the contracts," Lexa sighed and said, "It's always something, right?"

Clarke seemed faintly surprised that Lexa would use her own phrase but it brought a smile to her lips. "Yeah, I guess it is. But you know, I never knew the fitness industry was so cutthroat and demanding," Clarke smirked. 

"Are you making fun of it?" Lexa asked, defensive as usual about her position. 

"No. It's what you're passionate about, right?"

"Yes...?" Lexa said, not sure what trap the blonde might be baiting. 

Clarke shrugged. "There you go, then. I'd never mock someone for something so human as pursuing a dream."

Lexa felt a sweeping feeling of appreciation for the blonde's thought with a side of guilt for assuming she would make fun of her. A lot of people thought her job to be minuscule or a waste of time. It was rare to find someone who appreciated that Lexa's dream was worthwhile. Clarke's phrasing had been odd but Lexa didn't linger over it. "Would you," She began, stopping herself for a moment instinctually, something deep within her reminding her of another blonde she'd felt something for. Clarke tilted her head at Lexa's pause and she was reminded that she had been in the middle of a sentence. "Would you like to get a coffee with me?" She asked. 

"Right now?" Clarke asked. “I thought you had work?”

Lexa looked away sheepishly. "I don’t have to be in for about two hours but I wanted an early start. Besides, I should take it easy, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, sounds good. Just...let me drop off Bell. And my tupperware."

And so Lexa found herself in line with Clarke to get coffee, the blonde dressed in a tank top, jeans, and a flannel tied around her waist. Which was odd considering it was about fourteen degrees Fahrenheit. Or negative ten for the non-imperial inclined. Lexa was cold for Clarke but it was possible she was shivering for another reason entirely. She didn't analyze it. Instead she ordered her usual, a black coffee, while Clarke ordered a s'mores frappuccino with a copious amount of cinnamon both in the drink and on the whip cream. When they sat down to drink, Lexa asked, "What is it you do, Clarke?"

Clarke had taken a long sip before answering, "Art, now."

"Now?"

"Well, in the past I did medical. Trauma surgeon."

"What happened?"

Clarke lightly twirled the straw of her drink. "People kept getting hurt. And I got numb to everything. So I quit and did art instead."

"I'm sorry, Clarke."

Clarke waved as though the casual gesture amended years of trauma. "Don't be. I'm in a different place now."

"In what way?"

Clarke drummed her fingertips against the tabletop as she considered how to explain it. "Well, apart from physically, since I moved cities, it's a different mindset. I get burned out creatively and mentally, and it shows in the quality of work. It's slower-paced and it gives me more time to think. Which isn't always for the best. But it's not people's lives at my fingertips anymore." Clarke looked at Lexa and asked, "But what about you? I assume you own a gym."

"Sort of," Lexa said. "I...don't want to bore you."

"Lexa, if it seemed boring I wouldn't ask about it," Clarke said, leaning her cheek against her knuckles as she looked at Lexa expectantly.

"I own Trikru Gym, but we're expanding, buying out other gyms to rebrand into something else. I think together we'll be stronger."

"And the fact that you're eliminating the competition is just a side bonus, huh?"

Lexa gave a slight shrug- Clarke wasn’t wrong and it was rare that someone who didn’t know Lexa saw both sides of her goal. "So what comes after?" Clarke asked. 

"After the Coalition gets off the ground? I'm going for the Mountain." When Clarke seemed confused, Lexa added, "Another gym."

"Wow. So you just keep going, huh?"

"No. When the Coalition's big enough I'll leave the majority of it to someone else. A different _Heda_," Lexa added the second part under her breath almost mockingly, the reminder stinging that she would eventually have to step back and give someone else the thing she’d built from the ground up. But the more she said it, the easier it got as a thought. How it would do in practice was something else entirely. “Probably move on somewhere else,” She said, reclining back in her seat. 

"And where is somewhere else?"

Lexa looked out at the grey streets, the sidewalk filled with bustling people creating small clouds with every breath. "I haven't actually considered that. A part of me wants to travel. But I've travelled. I'd be just as happy in some mountain cabin away from everything and everyone."

"Until you get mauled by bears," Clarke noted. 

Lexa cracked a smile. "The chances of that are low, Clarke."

"You say that now but when Smokey's at your door, I hope you'll think of me."

"I'm fairly sure that pretty blondes will be the last thing on my mind if I get mauled."

"Pretty, huh?" Clarke noted. Lexa hadn't realized she'd let the thought slip. Bailing the brunette out, Clarke asked, “What’s that word you said?” 

“Which one?”

“_Heda_,” Clarke said. The accent was rough but it brought a smile to Lexa’s face regardless for her effort. Enough to make her forget that the odds of Clarke having been able to have heard the title over the noise in the cafe were infinitesimally small.

“It means ‘Commander’.”

“What language is it?” 

“Just...something that’s been in my family for a while. My Grandmother taught me and Anya, I guess it’s Native American or something like that.”

“Or something like that,” Clarke echoed with a slow nod. “Would you teach me sometime?” 

“Oh, I’m not that good of a teacher,” Lexa said as her fingers came to rest on the side of her coffee cup. It was, of course, a lie, dearest reader. Lexa had taught whole groups of people how to defend themselves, taught new employees how to handle day to day functions, even taught her hard-headed dog to sit, stay, rollover, and a myriad of other commands. But something about the idea of being alone with Clarke, teaching her something that meant a great deal to her, seemed...well, too much too fast. The broken heart, dearest reader, is not unlike a torn muscle- actually, it is a muscle but it's not a good idea to attempt to tear it. But back to the point. In minor cases, it can hurt but with adequate time and care, it can recover, even grow stronger. In the more severe cases, it never recovers. In all cases, it is a part of life; an inevitable fact of the human condition. Sadly when emotions are involved facts tend to swan dive out the window into the nearest dumpster fire.

Clarke gently touched Lexa's fingertips, her own chilled to how the frozen air had felt outside. "I wouldn't push you to do anything you didn't feel okay with, but I think it’ll be fun."

Lexa looked at her, considered it, and replied, “Alright,” with a faint smile of her own. It was just teaching Clarke something. She could handle that. With that, they finished up their respective drinks, occasionally peppering the silence with questions. Lexa found out that Clarke liked working with charcoal and acrylics, that her work had been displayed before, and that she enjoyed baking, hence the strong scent of vanilla that had wafted out during their second meeting, and the brownies she'd given her in apology. 

When asked about her own hobbies, Lexa thought about how her nights and days were often occupied with working out, paperwork, and the occasional nap with her dog on the couch while she watched a documentary. In short, Lexa had maybe two. Lexa replied, "Working out and spending time with my dog." 

She expected some kind of judgement or some reproach, perhaps an 'oh' before Clarke gave a benevolent look of boredom mixed with pity, but it didn't come. Clarke instead said, "Well, if you ever want to try out art sometime or baking it could be my way of paying you back for agreeing to teach me." 

"You don't have to pay me back," Lexa said. 

"Don't worry about it, Lexa, you can just think of it as...mutually beneficial reciprocation," Clarke winked. You learn something new, I learn something new, we're both happy."

Lexa looked down at her watch to see she only had about five minutes until she actually had to be into work. Which was inconvenient, since her job was about twenty minutes away. She thanked Clarke for her company and quickly explained the situation before rushing out, leaving Clarke alone. 

Dearest reader, do you know what dramatic irony is? Most high school students become acquainted with it when they're forced to study Shakespeare or history. In Grecian Tragedy it was employed to make the audience aware of something the character was not privy to, at least, not yet. An author, a co-writer, even highly regarded editors are in a semi-constant state of dramatic irony- doubly so if their particular tragedy reveals a detail to the audience. An example of this dramatic irony squared, dearest reader, was when Lexa ran out of the shop, Clarke watching after her, a man entered, silently taking her seat across from Clarke. All of the emotion that had been on Clarke’s face bled away in favor of a mask of indifference. 

“What was that, Princess? ‘I wouldn’t push you to do anything you weren’t okay with’?” He spat her own words back at her, poorly mocking her voice. 

“Finn,” Clarke said, dragging her eyes to the boy, her tone dripping with disinterest laced with rancor. “Don’t you have some warm body waiting for you? Maybe a sheep?” 

Finn scoffed. “I see how it is, Clarke. You get bored with me and you move onto another one. You’re just as bad as-”

Clarke glowered at Finn, her fist clenching on the tabletop as she interrupted, “I swear on your God, Finn, if you even breathe my Mother’s name-” 

"You don't scare me, Princess. The tough act never did.”

“Why are you even here? Last I heard John sent you to South America.” 

“So you’ve been asking about me.” 

“Yes, I also ask about smallpox to make sure it won't come back either. Why are you here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

"I-" Clarke sighed. "Forget it, Finn. You're just here to fuck around. Business as usual for you." Clarke stood up to leave, and whatever bitter amusement Finn's features held faded. 

“We both know it’s only a matter of time before you get bored again. Wonder how that’ll work out with lover girl?” 

"I'd leave before Raven gets your scent. I'm not going to deny her the unmitigated pleasure of kicking your ass twice."

"Typical, too afraid to do the deed yourself."

"I can-"

"Sure you can. You don't. That's why you fucked me last time. Why you keep coming back. Stop lying to yourself and me. Before someone else becomes your responsibility,” Finn said before walking out. Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh, wishing she still had some habit like smoking to relieve the stress that was, by degrees, building on her shoulders. Had Finn been her best moment? No. Was he a possible threat to whatever she potentially had with Lexa? Possibly. Clarke resolved to try to keep an eye on it. And possibly inform Raven that he was hanging around town once more. Now, dearest reader, here is the extra bit of dramatic irony for you in the form of a sentence you perhaps thought you wouldn’t see: Finn was and would be right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hotpockets are highly overrated.


	6. So There She Was, Preggo as Fuck (Layin' Down the Moves).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Dolphins are evil fucks.

Though it is all well and good to commit to something, dearest reader, actually following through can be tricky. Whether it be writing a story or committing an art heist, it matters not what you say, but what is done. And as countless people have failed to initiate the procedure of stealing the Mona Lisa or more impressively, the David, or publishing two chapters in a week as per the schedule, so too did Lexa, in the face of a very busy week, fail to get back to Clarke on the subject of their language lessons or exchange of knowledge. It wasn't that it had ever been all that far from her mind- Clarke's wink and low voice suggesting more than baking taunted her. But so did the massive amount of work that she barely put a dent in as she ran, sometimes literally, from site to site, trying to oversee everything and, by gradual degrees, stretching herself too thin. 

The realization of that fact came in the form of missing several lunches. You see, dearest reader, Lexa didn't enjoy eating. Oh, she knew it was necessary insofar as, say, breathing was necessary. But she didn't care about flavor, color, or even presentation in some cases. It was a lesson her father had imparted on her early: food was food and she took what she got. So Lexa meticulously searched up what was healthy for her to ingest, cooked whatever recipe seemed the least time consuming, and called it a day. The only marker of its absence from her life was that without it, Lexa became sluggish and moody. She needed something to cleanse the palate of her schedule, so after she walked Titus and fed him, she went for a long run. 

There was something about the raw physicality of running, of pushing her body to its limits, that appealed to Lexa. Her thoughts were loud, her feelings tidal waves in a sea that she had to restrain and weather with general success, as was expected of her. But running tempered it as nothing else. Every stretch of burning calves, every inhale of the air, smooth and cutting as razor blades in her lungs, it all brought her closer to the clarity and quiet she'd come to cherish. Even in the rain that had started about halfway through the run that made her clothes cling to her, Lexa persevered and found the silence within herself she'd needed. It clung to her even as she sloshed up to her apartment, key in hand, her thumb running absently over the ridges. As she got to her door, Clarke's opened, the blonde dressed casually in a pair of jeans, a white shirt under a blue leather jacket that brought out her eyes. Bellamy adorned her shoulders and meowed at the bedraggled brunette.

She stopped when she saw Lexa a startled, "Did you just go four rounds with a hurricane?" 

"No," Lexa answered. "I just got caught in the rain and-" She stopped, her nose itching before she covered her face with a hand and sneezed. "didn't stop," She finished. 

Clarke considered her and asked, "You went running? Knowing the forecast?" 

"I thought I had more time," Lexa defended. 

"Don't we all?" Clarke asked somewhat cryptically. "Do you think you're sick? I have some ingredients for soup at my place. I could swing by and make you some." 

Lexa's stomach growled at the mention of any kind of food- the beef jerky she'd had thirty minutes before her run had done precious little in terms of hunger satisfaction. Clarke said, "I'll take that as a yes and pop over in an hour or so. That way you can shower."

Before Lexa could protest, Clarke had vanished back in her room, and she found herself with an hour to kill. Which seemed excessive since the process of changing and showering for Lexa barely took twenty minutes on a long day. But now she expected company, so she went into her apartment, quickly locking the door behind her and peeling off her clothes with the same sense of urgency. Whatever internal peace Lexa had obtained from a long run was washed away down the shower drain as her nerves were shot by the idea of Clarke in her dwelling space, making her food for no reason other than because she'd sneezed. It was as touching as it was panic-inducing because Lexa was notorious for not doing well with people who actually cared about her wellbeing. 

Nevertheless, she changed into loose flannel pants and a tank top, her hair loose and over one shoulder as she tried to make her place seem somewhat more lived in, if only because Clarke seemed to value comfort and Lexa didn't want her to think she was a closeted sociopath. So Lexa grabbed the red fleece blanket she usually reserved for the middle of winter and tossed it over the back of the black sectional. Her fingers itched and she was quick to neatly fold it into a precise rectangle which defeated the purpose of it being out in the first place since it now looked like it could occupy some furniture catalogue. Titus watched her adjust the pillows, then move to the kitchen to put out a mug, putting it back when she realized she'd already put one out for her coffee the next morning. She dragged her palms down her cheeks, thinking that if anyone could see her having a mild existential panic over a girl coming to make her soup she would die of embarrassment. That, or there would have to be no witnesses. 

She looked at Titus at that particular thought and said, "Maybe I should talk to a professional." 

The knock on her door snapped her out of her thoughts and Titus hopped off the couch, his nub wiggling at it perhaps being Anya. Lexa took a breath, regaining control over herself as she told Titus, "Sit," and "Stay". The dog moved away from the door to so as Lexa had ordered but still stared at her eagerly. Lexa opened the door to see Clarke with a bag around her arm and her cat absent from her shoulders. "Hey, are you alright with dogs?" Lexa asked quickly. 

Clarke gave a quizzical smile and said, "Yes, Lexa, I'm good with dogs."

"Okay, but I can put Titus up if he misbehaves," She offered.

"I'm sure he'll be fine. May I?" 

"Sure. Come in," Lexa said, stepping aside. Clarke meandered in, reminding Lexa of a cat in the way she loped around in a small circle, eying the place as though she owned it already. Eventually, blue eyes settled on Lexa's and she observed, "It's very clean." 

Lexa gave a light scoff as she replied, "You sure know how to flatter a girl." 

"If you'd seen my place beyond the one time you'd realize it's very much a compliment," Clarke said with a quick half-smile. "And I assume that," She tilted her head to point with her chin, "Is your vicious dog." 

Lexa looked at Titus and nodded, the pitbull standing up to jog over to Clarke and curiously sniff at her. "Clarke, Titus, Titus, Clarke." 

Titus sneezed with excitement and went down on his front legs, rear raised in the air as he barked at Clarke. Clarke only said, "Looks like the sneezing's contagious." 

"He's just happy to see someone who isn't me or Anya," Lexa replied, sitting down on a stool in front of the bar that attached to the kitchen. 

"Why Titus? After the Roman commander?" Clarke asked, scratching behind his ear. 

"Actually, yes. You're the first one to guess that." 

Clarke shrugged. "You strike me as more of a history buff than a gym rat." 

Lexa gave a slight chuckle. "It was initially my major in college." 

"What'd you change it to?" 

"Sports and Exercise Science is my Masters' but Management is my Associates." 

"A history buff and an overachiever," Clarke noted as she gave Titus' side a final pat. She moved to the kitchen, washing her hands and placing down her bag before asking, "Do you have chicken?" 

"Bottom right drawer in the fridge." 

Clarke moved through the kitchen and found what she needed on her own, Lexa not saying much of anything while she went about her work. It struck her as odd, since Clarke in their few interactions was normally prone to talking- elongating the conversations that, were Lexa in the company of anyone else, would've been stilted otherwise. Tonight though, she seemed absent, or maybe focused but not on what was in front of her. She didn't speak, barely looked at Lexa as she made a pot of soup for the brunette to enjoy. The first word she said since starting to cook the meal was, "There," and it was at the outset of its completion. Lexa stared down at the bowl Clarke had presented her, then back up at Clarke, who looked at the view outside her balcony. 

When Lexa sipped at some of the soup, she found it to be flavorful, but not particularly impactful. She'd had soup before, after all. The real catch was the chicken. The meat was soft, soaked in the soup and had more taste to it than Lexa had expected. Not too salty, not bland as she'd had at regular intervals. She took time between spoonfuls, letting the liquid cool. Clarke asked, "Good?" 

"It's good, Clarke. Thank you." 

She nodded once in thanks and Lexa asked, "What's on your mind?" 

"Oh, nothing much," Clarke brushed off. Or tried to. 

"You've been quiet. Did something happen?" 

Clarke's fingers drummed, anxious as they often were whenever the blonde seemed to find herself deep in thought. Eventually, she asked, "You've worked with my mother, right?" 

"We've talked."

"Am I anything like her?"

Lexa set aside her soup bowl, now empty, while her jaw worked. It wasn't an easy question to answer since Clarke's hostility towards her mother was almost as obvious as Lexa's disdain for the woman's attitude. And maybe that was what Clarke was looking for. Confirmation bias. Someone who disliked Abigail Griffin as much as she did to point out the same things Clarke had doubtless noticed of her. But Lexa faced a unique handicap of not knowing much of Clarke or Abigail on a personal level. Knowing tidbits about someone was hardly enough to create a full psychological profile on them, but Lexa decided to answer honestly, anyway. 

"Yes, in some ways. Neither of you strays away from saying what's on your mind, you both care a great deal about others, you're both passionate. And there's nothing wrong with those qualities."

Clarke stared down at the watch on her wrist and gave a quiet and somewhat hollow chuckle. "It's weird, isn't it- how sometimes the thing you hate most is what you end up becoming?" 

Lexa got up and circled to the kitchen to get a water. She leaned on the countertop next to Clarke and sighed, "You're not exactly like her." 

"You're right- I'm her, my Dad, and whatever pieces of other people's personalities I liked all melded into a barely functional Frankenstein's Monster." 

"I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit," Lexa said quietly. 

"How do you suppose that?" Clarke asked. 

"Well," Lexa grunted, leaning back. "I don't know much, but I do know being a trauma surgeon takes brains. And to leave that to follow what makes you happy- that takes courage."

"Yeah, and if I could just get a functional heart I'd be the Wizard of Oz," Clarke said with a roll of her eyes. 

"I'm serious, Clarke." 

"So am I. It's selfish. How many people are dying because I decided drawing in my apartment all day was a better idea?" Clarke scoffed. "I'm not like my Mom. I'm worse." 

Lexa leaned gently against Clarke to get her attention, her skin warming against the soft fabric of the long sleeved shirt Clarke wore. "Just because someone does something that benefits a lot of people doesn't make them a good person. It doesn't make them a bad one either. Life's full of shades of gray, and you can only live yours for you in the way that's most meaningful to you." Lexa met Clarke's gaze and quietly said, "The dead are gone, Clarke. The living are hungry." 

Clarke asked, "Is that your way of saying you want more soup?" 

Lexa cracked a small smile, replying, "No." 

They were close, closer than Lexa had been proximity-wise to anyone in a long time. Close enough that Lexa could see the blue of Clarke's eyes darken as she looked down at Lexa's lips, her gaze travelling further down and back up with all the subtlety of a brick through a plate-glass window. Close enough that she could smell cinnamon lingering faintly on cotton, close enough that alarms were sounding in the back of Lexa's thoughts. Too close. But Lexa stayed still as Clark seemed to slowly move to close the distance...before there was a sound like rapid cannon fire on Lexa's door that sent them at least four feet apart. Titus got up from his spot on the floor, barking as he felt the new energy in the air. Lexa, heart hammering, said, "Titus, enough!" 

Sure enough, he backed away and Lexa looked at Clarke to say, "Sorry. I wasn't expecting anyone tonight." 

Running a hand through her hair, she moved to the door and opened it to see Raven, oddly enough. She looked beyond Lexa and exclaimed, "Clarke!" 

"Raven," Clarke greeted her dryly. It clicked in Lexa's mind that Raven and Clarke had to have known each other if what Raven said about Abigail being like a second mother to her was true. From the way Raven beamed at Clarke, it seemed their association was a friendly one. From the way Clarke glared at Raven, their association was not so friendly. 

"Lexa, I didn't know you were Clarke's neighbour," Raven said. "It's weird not seeing you in...not work clothes...am I interrupting something?" Lexa could practically see the gears turning in Raven's head. She wanted to violently exclaim that, yes, Raven had very much interrupted something, but just looked to Clarke. 

"What do you need, Raven?" Clarke asked, appearing beside Lexa. 

"Well, Octavia asked me to come to get you for something and Anya asked me to tell you to get in touch with her, Lexa." 

"What does Octavia need?" Clarke asked. 

"Something about Jasper getting drunk. It was a bit hard to hear over all the screaming." 

At Lexa's look of confusion, Clarke shook her head. "Jasper's a rowdy drunk. Must just be some stupid trouble. I'll grab my things and go." 

"So how long has Clarke been making her soup for you, Lexa?" Raven wiggled an eyebrow. 

"Just tonight. She thought I was a little sick," Lexa answered honestly. 

"So, was it good soup? Spicy? Sweet?" Lexa got the distinct impression Raven wasn't talking about soup but it was hard to tell since she had a notorious appetite Lexa had borne witness to on a few occasions. All of them ended in deep regret. 

Clarke closed the door for Lexa and turned to her, passing her a piece of paper. "The recipe and my number so we can...maybe do this again sometime?" 

Clarke sounded cautiously hopeful, and Lexa felt the same thing in her chest as she replied, "I'd like that." 

Clarke wished Lexa a goodnight and went out with Raven, while Lexa stood at her door for a little while before walking over to her room with Titus. Her stomach felt warm and full, her chest warmer and fuller than it had been in some time. Flicking on a bedside lamp, she unfolded the note to find Clarke's inelegant and barely legible scrawl waiting for her. Lexa mentally added handwriting lessons to the blonde's education and turned on her phone. It had, unfortunately, died shortly after she'd gotten in from her run and once she was sure it was charging, she'd left it to do as it needed to. She found that Anya had called her several times and returned it, the blonde picking up on the first ring. 

"Lexa," She said. 

"Anya, what's up?" 

"Dad's in town,” Anya said. 'Dad' to Anya was Gustus to Lexa but they might as well have been the same thing. He was a big man, heavily bearded with several tattoos and a decorated past as a Marine. In some ways he reminded Lexa of her own father- the military discipline he applied to his workouts and eating habits- and in other ways- like his capacity to love things- he didn't. There must've been a competition nearby. Or some.other event- Gustus wasn't shy about visiting whenever it suited his fancy. He'd only limited himself recently at Anya's request. While it hadn't been ideal for him, he understood that Anya was busy, and couldn't devote all of her time to staying with him and entertaining him, nice as that could be. 

“And?” Lexa asked. 

“And he needs a place to stay that isn’t my place.” 

“Don’t you have an extra room though?” 

There was a lengthy pause before Anya said, once more, “Lexa, he needs a place to stay that is not my place.” 

Comprehension settled into Lexa’s chest as she said, “Oh.” 

Dearest reader, when a man and a woman- wait, no that’s not it. When a man and a man- no, that’s...that's even worse. When a woman and a woman who also likes men love each other very much or even have a vivid flight of interest in each other come together- no, that’s not it either. Raven and Anya were likely taking their relationship to a level that required greater privacy than one’s father being present. Nailed it. Anyway, Lexa understood what Anya was saying without her cousin saying it. And she disliked it because, as one should be aware, Raven was technically her employee. 

“Dad gets in Monday, I’ll see you around then,” Anya said, hanging up. 

Lexa dropped her phone on the pillow beside her with a sigh. She would have to cancel on her date with Clarke to pick Gustus up and help him get accommodated. Maybe she could still fulfill the commitment, if her bodybuilding uncle was jetlagged enough to not make her go endure a long workout with him. But she strongly doubted it. Picking up her phone, she typed in the number, mistaking a 9 for a 7 initially before she finally got the message through to Clarke. 

'Hey, it's Lexa. My uncle's coming Monday and staying with me so I don't know how my availability is going to be.'

It was opened immediately...and left on read. Lexa stared at her phone for a good ten minutes, which bled into fifteen, then thirty, though she distracted herself with answering emails before eventually passing out, her phone next to her head. When she woke up the next morning, there was a response. 

'K.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My editor can't stop me. She tries really hard though.


	7. I Occasionally Have a Potty Mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the biggest of oofs reserved for how freaking long it took to write this chapter. In unrelated news the platypus is not the only animal that sweats milk.

“Lexa! Little _pauna_!” Gustus greeted Lexa at the baggage claim area where she waited for him. He was massive, and on a mission. Everyone who was in the path separating him from his niece soon was not. To illustrate the effect for you, dearest reader, imagine a boulder of considerable size tumbling down a mountain side, the smaller pebbles scattering in its wake. That was Lexa’s uncle operating on his own momentum. Upon reaching her, Gustus pulled Lexa up in a bear hug, arms wrapping tight enough around her rib cage with enough force to pop her back. He was naturally warm, and the thick flannel jacket he wore smelled faintly of leather, dirt, and tobacco from the pipe he smoked from time to time. 

When he placed Lexa down again, she returned the favor, thighs burning under the weight as she lifted him and somehow popped his own back. Gustus joyously laughed at the exchange as she set him down, clapping her on the shoulder with enough force to send grown men stumbling, but only slightly jerk Lexa. Perhaps it was a lifetime of conditioning courtesy of her father, Gustus, and her own interest in athletics, but Lexa was sturdier than her build often revealed. She’d had to be, especially growing up with Anya, who could be a vicious fighter when she so wished. 

“It’s good to see you, Uncle,” Lexa greeted him with a grin. 

“Where’s Anya? Is she getting the car?” 

“She had some work to finish up for me back at Trikru,” Lexa supplemented. It was the truth- Anya had volunteered to finish up the work so she could reserve the latter portion of the week and her weekend to catch up with her father. It didn't support why she wasn't able to pick him up or give him a room, though. If Gustus noticed, he didn't say anything about it.

Gustus gave a sigh, “My little girl, always working so hard.” He turned serious as he added, “If she can’t squat three hundred the law has softened her.” 

“She still makes time to work out,” Lexa assured him, praying that Anya could squat three hundred still so that she wouldn’t be saddled with entertaining Gustus for the duration of his stay. Gustus was intense to say the least about working out. He owned his own farm, so it was essential that he was in peak shape. Anya and Lexa- becoming involuntary farm hands over the summers- were held to similar standards. Which, dearest reader, is somewhat unreasonable if you’ve ever considered the proportions of a hay bale to a ten year old girl. 

“She told me I would be staying with you,” He nodded. 

“Yes, I have a room ready for you and a spare key you can use when you want to go out,” Lexa assured him. “Just be certain to lock the door when you go- my neighbor was robbed a little while back.”

“Did you see it happen?” 

“I stopped it,” Lexa replied. 

“That’s my girl,” Gustus said, wrapping a huge arm around her. 

Lexa helped carry her uncle’s bags out to the car and drove back to the apartment in relative silence. Well, dearest reader, the term ‘drove’ was a stretch. Of course they were in a car that occasionally moved but they were also in the perpetually dense traffic that filled the airport and routes away from it. About ten minutes into the silence, Gustus noted, “You got rid of the old truck.” 

Lexa had an old 1995 Chevy Silverado Gustus had given her for her high school graduation. The same truck she’d driven all through college, the same truck she’d packed up with hers and Costia’s things when they moved so that Lexa could create Trikru, the truck had been more of family than some of her family. Funny how things worked like that. Lexa shrugged and said, “It’s in storage. I got it tuned up a few years back but once I was able to afford the Audi I thought it was a better option.” 

“So Trikru is doing well?” 

“Yes. After I paid back all the loans on it I was actually able to turn a pretty good profit. I’ll give you your money back-” 

“Don’t say another word about it, Lexa. I gave you that money because you told me you’d make something out of it- you’re good about keeping your word.” 

Lexa felt her chest tighten with affection for the large man but she kept her eyes on the road. Gustus had always been like that to her and Anya- whatever they set their minds to become fell under his singular focus as well. Anya had wanted to be a swimmer, so Gustus got her a membership and trained with her all year until she won a national title and became bored with it. Lexa wanted to do better at Math, so he and her father stayed up with her all night to learn Calculus together, Gustus patiently encouraging her to look at the answer from a different perspective. The feeling dissipated when he added, “Although I’ll bet money your cooking’s still a mess.” 

“How’s the farm doing?” 

“Decided to start investing in the future- Alpacas.” 

“Alpacas?” 

“Better temperament than Llamas, more durable than horses; plus there’s a huge market for their fur in colder climates. Anya says she knows a couple of hipsters who’d pay top dollar for some custom fur clothes and Anna’s always wanted to get into knitting.” He looked at her and asked, “How have things been outside of the gym?” 

Lexa thought of Clarke and replied, “Pretty tame.” 

“Have you made friends?” 

“I don’t need friends. They disappoint me,” Lexa said. 

Gustus sighed, “Gods this is just like highschool all over again.” 

“Gustus I’m fine. I’ve been so busy with the gym it’s taken up all of my time but it’s alright.”

Gustus looked at her, skeptical, but nodded and watched the city lights blink until they got to Lexa’s apartment. She brought all of Gustus’ bags up while he set to making some food for them, taking note of the recipe, number, and name that hung up on Lexa’s fridge by a magnet- a reminder for Lexa more than anything of what had happened and what she still needed to do. He commented, “Your place is so barren!” 

“I’m used to not having much,” Lexa answered. 

“Where are your trophies? Your old bows? The pictures of us on the farm?” He asked, his tone one of genuine worry and hurt. 

“In storage,” Lexa replied. There’d been a time when they weren’t- a time when a mounted pair of deer antlers, a family heirloom bow as well as a lovingly hand crafted one, an old drinking horn and a thick comforter had all been cornerstones of Lexa’s life. A time when pictures of her at the farm and posters of tacky horror movies she and Anya had watched as children adorned the walls. But things changed. Suddenly the things she’d loved became curdling reminders of what she’d come to hate, parts of herself she’d wanted to amputate from her being like a dead limb. Storage was an acceptable enough substitute, until her walls were white and empty, her apartment bereft of anything to denote life, save herself and a dog she’d saved. “I’ll decorate it sometime,” She promised in the airy way people did when they had no intention of keeping it.

Gustus volunteered to cook, given that he was the guest and Lexa was already going out of her way enough to give him a place to stay. Lexa, like so many others, had tried to follow the rules of hospitality but like most things in Gustus’ way, they ended up broken. When he’d finished making his signature Shepherd’s Pie, he stood outside on the small balcony with Lexa, tendrils of heat curling up into the cool night air as they quietly enjoyed dinner. It reminded Lexa of simpler times on his farm, when they would all have a barbecue or cookout at the end of a long work week, earning a night of rest, relaxation, and food in unearthly amounts. 

Eventually, he removed his pipe from his jacket, packing something into it before lighting it with a match and asking Lexa between shallow drags to stimulate the infant heat, “Who’s Clarke?” 

“Clarke?” Lexa asked. 

“The name on your fridge. There was a recipe, a number.” 

“Oh. She’s a friend,” Lexa said. 

“What happened to Costia?” Gustus asked. 

Where running could put Lexa into a state of serendipity, the mention of Costia only served to put Lexa in a state of numbness, the taste of ash filling her mouth while some blade twisted in her chest. “She’s been gone for some time,” Lexa said, her voice monotonous. 

“I’m sorry, _pauna_,” Gustus told her, holding out his pipe. Lexa took it, taking a slow drag of it as she did once she learned how to treat it. Sharing Gustus’ pipe had been exciting to her, once upon a time. He’d done it with her when she was sixteen- her inexperience sending her into a coughing fit. After that had been when she’d developed her first crush, her first rejection, in celebration of her first date going well, her first heartbreak, the pipe had borne witness to a number of milestones in Lexa’s adult life. She didn’t care for smoking generally- it was the act of sharing it with her uncle, ruminating in the thoughtful silence that appealed to her more. 

“It’s fine,” She eventually said, the smoke escaping from between her teeth before she passed the pipe back to Gustus. “I...ah...I should’ve listened to Dad on that one, I guess.” 

“A stopped clock might be right twice a day but it’s still broken as fuck,” Gustus shrugged. “He asks about you sometimes.” 

Lexa scoffed in the form of a sharp exhale through her nostrils. “Really?” Her tone dripped with skepticism. 

Gustus gave a shrug of his boulder-like shoulders, caught. “In his own way. He wasn’t a good Dad, but he cares about his daughter.” 

“Then maybe he can say it to me sometime,” She replied. 

The thought made Gustus quiet on the subject of her family after that. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” He asked. 

“Anya asked me to meet up with her, Raven, and Lincoln to discuss employee movement between gyms.” 

“How’s that matter?” 

Lexa worked her jaw, figuring out how to best explain it. “I want all of the employees to get an idea of the culture the other gyms have and bring their own contribution to it. The Coalition’s united, so it would work if people were exposed to the different aspects of it.”

He nodded in understanding. “How are you gonna handle all the turnover for the entry level jobs?” 

“I want to eventually be able to offer above minimum wage so I can retain more employees. Training new people every three weeks isn’t ideal and the sooner we can break that the better. We won’t hurt for personal trainers though- the colleges around here all have a sports program. I can offer experience and mentorship through the trainers and clientele we have.” 

Gustus nodded and talked shop with Lexa as they passed the pipe back and forth, till the small embers faded to black against the breeze that cut across the city perpetually at the height of Lexa’s floor. Lexa found it in herself to remember to ask, “So why come here now?” 

“I have a competition that’s being hosted at Azgeda Gym, sponsored by the Mountain.” 

Lexa’s blood went colder than ice but she kept her eyes forward and reigned herself in. If Gustus, her uncle, competed and won, it was a subtle victory for her- a reminder of what Nia had started. Of course, if he failed- no, Lexa shook the thought away. Gustus was strong, capable. He wouldn’t fail- she would see to it herself if needed. “I know you’ll do well,” She offered up as encouragement. By the next morning, Gustus was geared up for a workout, and had decided to go with Lexa to see Trikru Gym, meet some of the ‘extended family’. Lexa agreed, and when they arrived at the two-floored space, designed with dark color schemes and plenty of harmless plants to resemble a forest, he said, “You never did get past the woods, did you?” 

“What does that mean?” Lexa asked as she escorted him to her office. 

“This place, it reminds me of the hunting grounds your father would take you to. The woods outside of my farm.”

Lexa hadn’t really thought about it and gave a slight shrug as she sat down. “I guess not.”

“I thought you used to hate hunting.” 

“I don’t like killing things, but there’s a kind of focus nature gives me. I thought by emulating it in Trikru it would help other people focus, too.” 

“Seems like it worked.” 

Lexa reclined in her chair and said, "Speaking of work, I do have some I need to knock out before the meeting. I believe you can find your way around the gym- try not to scare off too many of my members with your bench press. If you need any help, you can talk to Nyko. He looks like you but you'll scare him if you try to give him a hug."

"'Course," Gustus smirked and stood up to begin his workout. Lexa envied him- while he actually got to do things, she was stuck in a room, analyzing papers and membership contracts. She decided to start on Arkadia's contracts, noticing that a lot of the members had paid for physical therapy with Abigail. In fact, most of them had at some point or another. Some were constant, others were intermittent, and some only needed it once or twice before the record of it vanished. It was odd, since the average gym goer didn’t seem to require the services of a physician. Maybe the majority of Abigail’s clients were former athletes or current, considering the number of colleges around. Lexa made a mental note to ask Raven about it when she saw her and Anya for lunch, an appointment that was signaled by the vibration of her phone that, some small part of her, had hoped was Clarke. 

Clarke hadn’t texted Lexa beyond the single letter. Not to say ‘hello’ or to even arrange a new day to meet up, and it confused Lexa. She seemed like she wanted to be closer, but then would vanish for days, weeks at a time, only to reappear to give attraction or attention on her terms. It seemed to Lexa she had more in common with a cat than shoulder space. There was a knock on the door before Lincoln walked in, saying, “Hey.” 

Lexa sighed. “Lincoln, you’re supposed to ask if you can come in. What if I was on a call with Nia?” 

Lincoln barely choked down a laugh and managed to look apologetic. “Sorry, boss, I just thought with the whole lunch thing coming up you wouldn’t be in a call or anything. It won’t happen again.” 

Lincoln, Lexa thought, was as much like a dog as Clarke was like a cat in terms of behavior. He was hardworking, loyal, enthusiastic, really just one of her better trainers with a love for bacon. It occurred to her in passing that she probably shouldn't have even unconsciously sorted people into categories of what animals they reminded her of and adjusting her behavior according to what seemed appropriate to deal with said animal but that was a musing for another time. For now she was rendered incapable of staying mad at him, and gathered her things. “Alright, we should head out. Did Gustus already go?” 

“Yeah, after about two hours he said he wanted a drink and headed out. I still can’t believe he looks the same as he did when we were in college.” 

“Gustus is...remarkably consistent,” Lexa noted, placing her contracts in her bag and walking out with Lincoln. “Where’s this place you guys wanted to go?” 

“It’s a pub near Arkadia Raven likes to go to. I figured I could drive since you’re probably burned out from all the contract reading.” 

“I can drive,” Lexa insisted.

“I never said you couldn’t- you can even take the drive back if you want,” Lincoln shrugged, opening the passenger door to his Jeep for Lexa, as he always did. 

Lexa stared at him for a moment before climbing in, ignoring his smug smile. Lincoln drove like an old woman, ever cautious of the people around him. Lexa thought he’d be invested enough in it that he wouldn’t notice her checking her phone, but he eventually asked, “Why have you started and deleted the same message four times in a row?” 

Lexa wrinkled her nose with frustration and tucked it back into her bag. “Trying to figure out how to arrange a meeting with Nia without calling her a bitch and Roan the bastard son of a whore.” 

“That’s...a lot more intense than you usually are with Nia,” Lincoln said, seeing through her lie fairly easily. The truth of the matter was, dearest reader, that Lexa had been trying to figure out how to message Clarke that she still wanted to see her- that she hadn’t forgotten about her; explain that her uncle was the reason she’d been preoccupied. But then again, Lexa wasn’t one for sharing her life details. And Clarke had a way of acting as a kind of catalyst to Lexa's emotions, exciting them until they exploded beyond whatever mask Lexa crafted. It was a special kind of loss of control Lexa despised almost as much as she hated the sound of two napkins rubbing together. Lincoln asked, “Is it a girl?” 

“No,” Lexa replied curtly. It wasn’t ‘a’ girl. 

“Alright then, boss, keep your secrets,” Lincoln resigned himself to ignorance rather than peeling the truth away from Lexa like Anya would. Of course, Lincoln also knew that if Lexa really wanted to get something off her chest, it would come out eventually. 

“I just can’t figure out how to talk to her,” Lexa grumbled. 

“Been a while?” He asked with a sympathetic smile. 

If by ‘a while’ Lincoln meant approximately two years since Lexa had had her heart ripped out through her throat and stepped on by another blonde with a penchant for burning things, then, “Yeah, been a while,” Lexa replied. “Worst part is I can’t really tell where I stand with her.”

“Is she playing hard to get or are you just not being open?” 

Lexa glared at him and snapped, “I’m trying.” 

Lincoln waited till he got to a stop light to hold his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, boss, no need to attack me. We’re all friends in the Jeep.” 

Lexa sighed, the sound coming out unintentionally as a quiet growl, more at herself than anything. “Maybe her not texting me is for the best. I’m freaking out over a response- what kind of functional adult does that?” She tossed her phone into her book bag. If Clarke wanted to keep to herself, she could. And in the meantime, Lexa could put her own thoughts in order. 

“Might be over my head, but have you tried just asking her if she wants to go out?” 

“Let's drop it for now, Lincoln.” What Lexa's tone actually communicated, dearest reader, was 'there are too many emotions surrounding this for me to deal with in one sitting and the vulnerability I would have to show to deal with it isn't something I take lightly so if you could kindly leave it alone I'd appreciate it'. Lincoln didn't speak 'Lexa' fluently enough to understand all of it, but he got the idea, staying quiet on the subject of Clarke until they reached the pub. Raven stood outside with Anya, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, though she seemed jittery, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as her eyes followed the rolling progress of Lincoln’s car to a parking space. 

Anya was, by all appearances, a counterbalance. Perfectly at ease as she stood still, she greeted Lincoln with a smile when he shook her hand. Of course, he wanted to give her a hug, not unlike Gustus in his overt shows of affection, but Anya, having grown up with it, set clear boundaries. 

Anya greeted Lexa while Lincoln spoke to Raven about how things were going at Arkadia. Pleasantries aside, Lexa told Anya, “I brought a few contracts to talk to Raven about concerning Arkadia’s usage of Abigail- nearly all of the members have gotten physical therapy with her.” 

“Isn’t that some sort of HIPPA violation to have that on their records?” 

Lexa shook her head. “Abigail isn’t giving out the details of what’s wrong with them, just that they have appointments with her marked as physical therapy.” 

“What- you think Abigail Griffin’s peddling drugs or something?” Anya asked with a scoff. 

“No, not necessarily, but…" Lexa paused, considering how to not phrase what she was saying as an accusation. "It just seems weird that over a hundred people would need her."

"You mean it's weird because her personality’s the equivalent of a wet rag and even though the membership’s small that’s still an unprecedented number of people for a doctor to take on."

“More or less.” 

“Raven mentioned you had a girl at your place. Specifically Abigail Griffin’s daughter.” 

“Clarke just made me some soup because I went for a run in the rain.” 

“That’s it?” Anya asked, shock decorating her features. 

“Anya, I’m perfectly capable of being friends with a girl and not being sexually attracted to her.” Except that they weren’t friends. Not quite. Clarke and Lexa didn’t know enough about each other to be friends. It felt like they’d skipped several steps and backtracked even more. 

“I know, I know but...she was at your place. You don’t let people who aren’t family or legally mandated to be there inside your place.” 

Anya, Lexa begrudgingly thought, had a point. Lexa didn’t like people in her space, especially not the space she considered closest to herself, sparsely decorated as it was. It felt like some sort of extension of trust that Lexa took about as likely as trusting anyone at all with anything ever. Which is to say, dearest reader, rarely if ever. Anya noted Lexa’s hesitation as she realized what the blonde was implying and pounced. “You like her, don’t you?” 

“No!”Lexa answered automatically, as denial was her first reaction to most things.

“No?” Anya asked, knowing full well denial was usually Lexa's first response to most things but decided giving her the wiggle room for doubt would do more for her than any accusation.

“I mean- no!”

“So is that a no to liking her or a no to your knee jerk exclamation of ‘no’?” Anya asked. 

Lexa crossed her arms. “Let’s drop it for now, Anya.” 

Anya, who spoke ‘Lexa’ perfectly, understood. “Fine, fine, but only if you promise we can discuss it later.” 

Lexa rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’ve taken more of an interest in my love life than your own father coming to visit. I hope the time alone with Raven was worth it.” 

Anya’s gaze narrowed. “Are you implying something?” 

“Besides that you made Gustus stay at my place because you wanted alone time with Raven? No.” 

Anya gave a short laugh. “Raven was helping me out with some stuff, but that’s about it. My apartment’s a shit hole of paperwork and the alcohol I need to process about 60 percent of it. I wanted to get it cleaned up so Dad didn’t have to stay at your place for the entire visit.” 

“So you aren’t…?” Lexa asked, leaving her statement open ended.

Anya scoffed. “God, no. Raven hasn’t even looked at me the wrong way.”

“You sound disappointed about that.” 

“More pissed at you than anything- if you didn’t get your panties in a twist every time she even breathed in my direction this deal would be sealed.” 

“Do you seriously expect me to believe that Raven,” She nodded to the woman, grinning like she knew someone's dirty little secret- or like she was the dirty little secret. “The woman who flirts with you every time I’m within a metric mile, has never made a move?” 

“Believe it or not, Lexa, she just likes fucking with you. It’s not easy to get under your skin and some people like it when you’re...I don’t know, human?” 

Lexa rolled her eyes and followed the group into the pub. Anya hadn’t really phrased it all that well and somewhere inside it had left a barb, but she covered it up, locked it away in the back of her thoughts, and moved on. The truth of the matter was It was incredibly easy to fluster Lexa, dearest reader, as you who are privy to all of her thoughts would be aware. The only counter to that particular fact was that Lexa was just better at hiding it than most. Even Anya, her family, who’d grown up with her and spent summers shoveling shit with her, didn’t know every nook and cranny of who Lexa was, how she thought or acted. Perhaps that was by Lexa’s choice, perhaps she wasn’t all that observant, perhaps one day an advanced society will look back upon this one in scorn for its unholy creation of mayonnaise. Who knows?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My treasure trove of animal facts is probably what has alienated me from my peers. Definitely not crippling social awkwardness and moderate paranoia cultivated by several bad experiences. Oh well.


	8. The Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've collectively lost it.

The first thing that struck Lexa about the pub was how dark and cold it was. Raven had guided them through a fairly empty cafe, down a spiral staircase in the back to what seemed like a basement converted into a bar. It would’ve been pitch black were it not for the candles and fairy lights hung about the place, illuminating the dark wood furnishings and the plants that hung around the place like some old root cellar. There were a few people there, customers, Lexa guessed, but she didn’t see any other staff, save for one. 

At the bar was a brunette dressed in a loose white blouse cut low to reveal a hint of cleavage and several necklaces, one of which was a moon, another one resembled a pentagram. The candles granted her a kind of ethereal look as she mixed a few drinks, lighting a match on a flaming shot before she slid it down to one of the patrons at the end of the bar. She seemed concentrated and yet, somehow at ease. Her work was the only noise in the place, save for a Bluetooth speaker behind the bar that played hard rock at a surprisingly soft tone. 

Lexa wasn’t sure what look the bar was trying to go for, and the chill made her wish that she’d brought a jacket with her. She took solace from the fact that the place smelled nice, though. Like flowers after the rain, coated with fresh dew. The group walked up to the bar and the woman stopped mixing to say, “Raven. I thought I kicked you out last night.” 

“You did,” Raven said, taking a seat. “But I brought customers as a peace offering.” 

“You think cash will work with me? You hit a man with a wrench- a huge wrench! I don’t even know how you managed to sneak that thing in here,” Octavia said, leaning against the bar. 

“Come on, O- was the wrench excessive-”

“Yes.”

“Probably not considering he was about to roofie that one chick.” 

“Roofies are fucked up but that doesn't mean you weren't in the wrong, too.” 

“Dude was practically carved from stone, Octavia, a little whack to the back of the skull was nothing, especially considering he started a fight with me right after."

"Raven, he could've started a circus with you right after- it wouldn't have mattered. My answer's no."

Raven sighed and ducked her head down, long hair concealing her features. When she looked up again it was as though her pupils had dilated so that the disks of brown that were her irises became the color of melted gold in the candlelight. Her lips turned down ever so slightly in the most pitiful look Lexa had seen since she got Titus fixed and he'd had to wear the cone of shame. Eyebrows drawn together with concern and the slightest of slumps to the shoulders pulled it all together. Raven was executing, dearest reader, the puppy dog eyes. A difficult manoeuvre to pull off, especially if one is decidedly not adorable, but Raven was a practised master at the technique. The judges gave it a solid 9.75 out of 10 on a bad day. 

Octavia scoffed. “You seriously think-"

“Please, Oct-” 

“No, Raven, I’m not falling for your bullshit, and shame on anyone who assumed I would.” 

How unfortunate. Raven dropped the act and sighed, “Alright, what if I got you a fresh shipment of TonDC Reserve before it ever hit the shelves?” 

Octavia stared at Raven for several moments. “You’re shitting me.” 

Raven groaned and crossed her heart. “I can do it, O, I promise!” 

Octavia took off her necklace with the moon and wrapped it around hers and Raven’s wrists twice before holding up her pinky, a dead serious expression on her face. Raven perked up, holding up her own and pinky swearing with the brunette. Octavia shrugged and took her necklace off of their hands, putting it around Raven’s neck and said, “Take any booth you like- I’ll get someone to help you in a few.” 

“Thanks, O,” Raven grinned, hopping off the stool to walk over to a booth while Lexa tried to understand what she’d just witnessed. Anya looked like she might break something, while Lincoln couldn’t stop staring at Octavia, who’d gone back to drying a few glasses. Lexa tugged him over to the booth where Anya sat next to Raven. Since she doubted Anya would come out and ask it of her directly, Lexa stepped up instead. “Raven, what was that whole exchange and are you wanted for assault?” 

“Oh, that. Well, I’m not wanted for assault or anything, Octavia just hates violence here. And as far as this,” She dangled the necklace between her fingers. “It’s just a thing with her. This is her favorite necklace and if I don’t keep my word she will absolutely hang me with it.” 

“And she does that with everyone?” 

“No- she doesn’t make promises with everyone. But she’s a good friend of mine- knows I’ll come through in the clutch on this one. So what’d you want to talk about, Lexa? And more importantly, why do you want to talk to me about it? I mean, running gyms seems like shit that people who, well, actually run gyms would talk about.” 

Lexa was suspicious but resolved to move on. Lincoln, on the other hand was not. “How...good of friends would you say you are?” He asked. 

“Lincoln!” Lexa and Anya said simultaneously. 

“I just wanna know!” He said, raising his palms up while Raven looked at the various members of the group. 

She shouted, “Yo, O! You still single and ready to Christian mingle?!” 

“What does that even mean?!” Octavia asked. 

“It’s like when you’re ready to get out there and know someone biblically!” 

“Raven I will get a restraining order!” 

Raven faced Lincoln and said, “So she’s single.” 

Lexa cleared her throat and said, “Maybe this is a bad idea.” 

“Oh, come on, you’re not going to let my fun really throw a wrench in this whole thing are you?” Raven asked. 

“Why are you talking about throwing wrenches?” Octavia asked as she appeared next to them with a lack of warning most horror movie jump scares would have sold their souls for. It was enough to make Lincoln flinch while Lexa, Anya, and Raven all regarded her sudden appearance with muted surprise. “What? Atom refuses to come out of the kitchen so I have to take orders,” She said, whipping out multiple menus to pass out to the group. She looked at Raven and said, “Wrench throwing?” 

“It’s an expression!” 

Octavia knew better but she let it slide. “Just signal me when you want to order.” 

Lincoln opened his mouth to ask a question but she walked away before he could. “Is she normally so…” He began to ask. 

“What? No, Octavia’s a sweetheart. She just has to be hard for this place. Lots of people come in, you know, and they see a pretty face and they think they can just do whatever the fuck they want. It’s easier for her to be all cold and untouchable from the get-go rather than whip out the shotgun when someone gets a little too frisky.” 

“Is this neighborhood really that bad?” Anya asked. 

“Not really- but it doesn’t have to be a bad place for bad people to show up anyway,” Raven said. “So what were you asking about, Lexa?” 

Lexa considered Raven; if she could really be trusted, and how to best phrase the line of questioning. “Well, the first thing I wanted to do was to inform you that I’m cycling staff around to different gyms. You seem to be the most senior member of Arkadia’s staff, so I would appreciate it if you were able to go to a few other locations and get a kind of standardized operation set up, as well as run a few promotions for the other locations so members know what’s available to them.”

“I follow,” Raven nodded. “What was the other thing?” 

“Well, I wanted to ask about these physical therapy appointments,” Lexa reached into her bag, removing the file of printed membership contracts to place in front of Raven. “I know you can’t disclose specifics, even if you did know what they were about. I just wanted to know if Abigail has a focus on injured patients who somehow become members.”

Raven opened up the file to thumb through the contracts thoughtfully while Lexa, Lincoln, and Anya decided what they wanted. She signalled to Octavia, the brunette taking their orders before heading to the kitchen to report them. Eventually, Raven inhaled and put the folder down, saying, “Sorry, don’t know anything about any of that.”

Lexa took the folder back with a slow nod and placed it in her bag. “That’s fine. I’ll get in touch with Abigail at some point and see what she can tell me.” 

“Cool. I’m all for doing whatever you need from me, Lexa but I”m just a front desk person, you know? Like, Abigail only talks to me when she needs to and that’s maybe once a month when we’re busy.” 

“It’s fine, Raven. I appreciate your willingness to cooperate in every other regard.” Except, she thought, for telling the truth. Raven might’ve been just a front desk employee, restacking weights, fetching towels, handling contracts, check-ins, and registrations, but she was the backbone of Abigail’s gym. Enough that she’d allowed Raven to set up a whole system for streamlining contracts and encrypting all of the information. That didn’t even call into account the fact that Raven had a Bachelor’s degree in Mechanical Engineering. She wasn’t an idiot. So what did Abigail have over her? Was it some part of her employment contract or something more? Lexa resolved to figure it out some other time while Anya asked, “How did you and Octavia meet?” 

“Oh, we all met in college.” 

“We?” Lexa asked. 

“Yeah, Octavia, me, Clarke, Bellamy, Finn,” She shook her head with a fond smile. “Crazy times. You should ask Clarke about it sometime.” 

“Bellamy? The cat?” Lexa asked.

“Yeah. Clarke had a really hard time trying to figure out where to put him after that party when we found him- ‘cause her dorm didn’t allow pets and her roommate at the time was super allergic to cats. Anyway, long story short it also turned out she was allergic to some kind of exotic mold, too, so Clarke was allowed to live off-campus for the rest of her time there and it wasn’t an issue anymore.” 

“Does that mean you grew the mold or it was already there?” Lincoln asked. 

“Dunno, I didn’t live there. But it really made partying in mixed company easier for sure.” 

Octavia walked out with the food and drinks with more haste than Lexa had received anywhere else, placing them in front of each person before walking away quickly again. Raven had ordered a steak that was as large as her head, Anya ordered salmon with a side of soup, Lincoln had ordered a chicken sandwich and Lexa had ordered a salad, not particularly in the mood for anything heavy. When she bit into the leaves, she could faintly taste something else. It wasn’t like eating any other salad. There was a kind of smokey quality to the leaves, almost unnoticeable. It reminded Lexa of the soup Clarke had made her in that it was somehow different from the food she normally ate and that it brought a different sort of feeling to the surface. But Lexa decided it would be weird to just ask about a salad and her curiosity was wiped away by witnessing Raven attempting to steal Anya’s food and Anya threatening to stab her. 

“Why is everyone threatening me today?” Raven asked Lexa. 

Lexa looked at Anya, eyeing the general direction of Raven’s steak, though Lexa knew better than to assume it was just pure coincidence that it was on the same level as a certain necklace. Rave seemed to notice it as well, because she removed it from the spot over her heart in favor of shoving it in her pocket, a move that earned her a glare from Octavia. She cut her steak to a smaller bite than Lexa had seen her inhale and offered it up to Anya.

“Seriously?” Anya asked. 

“It’s a good steak,” Raven said. 

“We don’t share food.” 

“So you don’t want my steak?” Raven asked with a suggestive smirk. 

Anya rolled her eyes and leaned forward to take the bite, her gaze falling to her own plate while she chewed, a blush rising on her throat. With a huff she passed Raven a bit of her salmon and the air between all of them seemed to relax.

“What just happened?” Lincoln whispered to Lexa. 

“A ceasefire, if I had to guess,” Lexa replied, finishing off her salad. 

“Why are women so confusing?” He muttered. 

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Lexa grumbled before she took a long drink of water. The rest of the lunch passed by smoothly, Raven doing most of the talking since Anya, Lincoln, and Lexa were more prone to the quiet. Lexa watched her body language- how she spoke with her hands and how her eyes lit up when she got on any story- the way she would occasionally stop to look over to Anya and ask if she wanted anything else. It was so distracting she almost missed it when a question was directed at her. 

"What?" She asked. 

"I asked what made you want to start a gym up?" 

Lexa crossed her arms and said, "Spite, I guess. Initially it was just a suggestion that became a way to get back at people and now it's what I love."

Raven huffed, "I've had relationships with people that sounded less complicated."

"You wanted to know."

"And now I want to get the check," Raven said, moving to go ask Octavia for it, but Lincoln sprung up like the booth were suddenly and very explicably made of lava. "I can take care of it," He offered. 

Raven, not one to turn down a free anything, sat back down while Lincoln went to the bar to talk to Octavia. “I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Anya muttered. 

“Does anyone?” Lexa asked. 

“Sorry about butting in on you and Clarke the other night,” Raven said. 

“How well do you know Clarke?” Lexa asked Raven. 

Raven scratched her throat and shrugged. “Best friends since college but Clarke’s not really one for...being known, if that makes sense.”

It made perfect sense. Lexa shrugged it off. “How’s Jasper?” 

“He’s good- swore off drinking for the thousandth time, but we all know he’s just going to go as hard next month.” 

“He sounds like he has a problem,” Lexa noted. 

“Sure, but he won’t change. It’s not like we haven’t tried. Even Abby talked to him about it and he just laughed her off.” 

Lexa closed her teeth together, worried if Jasper was going to cause a problem for her. She’d have to see if she could talk to him, approach things from a different angle. Of course, the fact that his coworkers, friends, and former boss had all tried and failed didn’t exactly fill her with hope that her attempt would be any more welcome or successful. Raven got up, stretched out and said, "Well, this seems like it's been a productive meeting. Anya, you wanted to go grab ice cream?" 

Anya stared at her for a few moments before saying, "I have some paperwork to do back at the office, unfortunately. I'll see you around, though."

She walked out and Raven watched after her, lips quirking down like the rest of her demeanour. Lexa considered being honest with Raven about the pile of work Anya set to completing to spend time with her father, but it wasn't really her place. Anya had likely told her and if she hadn't, well, she had her reasons. Sometimes distance was the best thing for Anya, as Lexa had learned. Time and space offered clarity and given how many times she'd glanced at Octavia throughout the course of the meal, it was likely just what she needed. 

Raven didn't seem to know that about her cousin yet, if the way she frowned after her and slumped over to the bar to speak to Octavia was any indication. Lexa blinked at the display, and was happy for once that her own feelings weren't so obvious or controlling. The lunch done, she waited outside for Lincoln to drive them back. It was a nice day out, with the warm sun high in the sky, a cool breeze that balanced the touch of heat, it was probably the last nice day they'd see before the full fury of winter covered everything. There was something about the whole lunch that had been vaguely familiar. The entranced look on Lincoln’s face at the sight of Octavia, how quickly Raven’s attitude had shifted because of Anya, and Lexa felt herself wondering if love was really worth all of the trouble. 

Dearest reader, there are many people who throughout the course of your life will try to explain what love is, the most cynical of these being a chemical reaction coupled with evolutionary bonding tendencies humans never evolved past that eventually faded with time and hardship. The truth of the matter is, it doesn’t matter. Because everyone’s understanding of the feeling, the state of being that is being in love, is different. Because all feelings are inherently different. Does it not strike you odd, dearest reader, that someday you may meet someone who you physically ache to be with and around, and they don’t feel the same way? It certainly seemed strange to Lexa, who'd thought she understood love once upon a time, had it in the palm of her hand like some ripe fruit that, as fruit is want to do, rotted. Seeing the rollercoaster of emotion that afternoon reminded her of that truth that had housed itself in her chest like a spear. 

What was the true value of something if it only hurt and confused? What was the point of banging one's head against a brick wall if the inevitability was that they would break before it did?

Lexa’s thoughts were tugged away from whatever pointless rabbit hole they wanted to wander down as her phone vibrated. It was a text from Clarke that asked, ‘Can we talk l8r at my place?’ 

Lexa tilted her head at it, curious as to why Clarke would want to see her out of the blue during the workweek when she’d had a whole weekend to request it of her, as well as her horrendous usage of texting shorthand, but she replied, ‘Sure, what time?’

‘7. I’ve got dinner.’ 

Clarke texted a pizza emoji and the thought of all the grease coupled with whatever ungodly sweets the blonde probably had set aside brought a slight smile to her face. In all truth, Lexa was consciously aware that entertaining the idea of the potential of something with Clarke ran counter to every thought that she'd had only a few moments ago. Despite that, she agreed before she could put too much thought into it, replying, ‘Okay’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have anything sarcastic, deep, or massively idiotic to toss here. There was a song that made me happy, so I hope you all find a new song that makes you happy enough to listen to it 50 times and violently inspires you to write. Or do the thing.


	9. Bees Everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to think the number of dreams I have within dreams has increased purely because of Inception's release.

Lexa stood outside Clarke's door with her hands in her pockets, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She'd showered, changed into a fresh white short sleeve with jeans and a flannel round her waist in case Clarke's place was cold. All of that aside, and she'd still arrived in front of the blonde's door with fifteen minutes to spare. Was it odd, she wondered, to be early for a date with your neighbor at their own house? Maybe Clarke would find it endearing. Lexa mentally stopped herself- date? It wasn't a date. The word 'date' hadn't even been used. Clarke just said she'd wanted to talk and eat dinner together. Was that not a date in spirit if not in the traditional idea of the word? 

Biting her lower lip, Lexa raised her hand and knocked. She was wasting time debating herself over the meaning of a word. She heard some shifting from inside and the door opened to reveal Clarke, dressed in cargo pants and a tank top, her hair pulled in that half up ponytail she'd worn the first time Lexa saw her. Bellamy was, of course, along her shoulders. 

"You’re early,” She yawned. The long exhale was punctuated by a lazy smile and Clarke adding, “Nerd.” 

"And here I was actually trying to impress you with my nonchalance,” Lexa replied, a slight dig at Clarke. 

“Use fewer big words and step into my parlour,” Clarke invited with a mockingly grandiose bow.

There was something foreign and yet comfortable about Clarke's dwelling place. Pictures hung on the wall, some impressively realistic, some very abstract, Lexa got the impression Clarke didn't have a favorite style- and she had read up on styles after their coffee date. And on the subject of reading, the blonde had bookcases filled to the brim and then some with different volumes, some written in different languages. Indeed, nestled between two of those bookcases was a flat screen television that advertised it was playing some sort of French song. The place smelled faintly of some sort of freshly made bread and was dimly illuminated by fairy lights carefully hung over the pictures. 

Lexa was surprised. She expected something...well, more mature, among other things. Clarke was a former surgeon, after all. Then again it was very in line with what she'd seen of her personality- comfort oriented, expectation breaking. 

“Wow,” She breathed. “Given how much of a pack rat you’ve played yourself up to be, I thought it’d be messier.” 

Clarke tucked her hands in her pockets and said, “Yeah, well, had to get rid of some stuff but a few chains here, a whip there, maybe some handcuffs and it’ll really feel like home.” 

“What sort of homes did you live in that had chains and whips hanging around?” Lexa asked with concern. 

A sly smirk crept onto Clarke’s lips as she said, “So out of that list, chains and whips were what threw you off. Noted.” 

Lexa struggled to fight back a blush while Clarke said, “Only teasing you, Lexa. Make yourself at home. My casa es your casa.” 

She moved from behind Lexa to sit on a plush couch where a sketchpad had been abandoned. Lexa looked at the kitchen, noting the counters had numerous kinds of alcohol decorating it, most of the insanely expensive bottles full. With her selection in mind, she moved towards the fridge, taking out a water. When she was by the window the mini fridge sat under, she noticed a bonsai tree with a note scribbled on the pot.

'Jake'. She guessed it was the name of the plant. 

Lexa turned around to see Clarke deep in focus, her pencil lightly scratching at various intervals over the page. Bellamy had abandoned Clarke's shoulders in favor of sitting on the arm of the sofa closest to Lexa to stare at her while she sat across from Clarke, a cushion of space separating them. Lexa gave a quiet sound when it hit her how soft the couch was, her tense shoulders relaxed as her head lolled back. 

"Enjoying yourself?" Clarke asked. 

"This may be the softest couch I've ever sat on."

"I take it you sit on a lot of couches?" 

Lexa opened her eyes to look at Clarke, who hadn't taken her own eyes off the sketch pad but now wore a teasing smile. "Anyway," She set aside the book. "I didn't ask you here to appreciate my couch."

"You said you wanted to talk."

Clarke gave a nod and leaned her arm against the back cushion. "Far be it from me to make judgement calls on a person's life but you seem like you’re stressed. Like a hummingbird."

"Hummingbirds are stressed?"

"I can only imagine how stressed you would be if your heartbeat hinged on constantly eating and moving."

"Doesn't it?"

"Lexa I think we've gotten off topic," Clarke smirked. "You're stressed, and I think I have a solution to that."

Lexa stared at Clarke, a knot forming in her throat that she swallowed heavily around. "And what would that be?" 

Clarke moved closer to Lexa, close enough that her arm wrapped behind Lexa's head. Close enough that the lights were tiny flecks of gold in her eyes to Lexa. Clarke eventually broke the tension by holding up a pencil to Lexa and suggestively muttered, "Art."

Lexa stared at her, unsure as to how to put what she wanted to say. "I'm not very good at Art, Clarke."

Clarke scoffed, leaning back from Lexa as she twirled the pencil deftly between her fingers. “No one said you had to be good at something to like it, Lexa. Most people don’t fly very well but there are still a lot of them who like jumping out of planes."

"What I mean is...art supplies aren't cheap and I doubt you'd appreciate it if I messed up and broke something or wasted it on something that didn't matter."

"You’re right, it’s not cheap. But this stuff’s made to be used and broken." She shrugged. "Doesn't really matter what you make or how you make it. As long as you get better."

Lexa stared at Clarke, everything within her strangely quiet. "What do you draw?"

"Oh, the usual. Bodies, faces, animals, the heat death of the universe, whatever I want, really. You can, too," Clarke said, sidestepping the question. After a moment of hesitation, and careful deliberation, Lexa took the pencil. Clarke smiled, moved away, and retrieved a drawing pad for Lexa. She offered to change the music of Lexa wanted but Lexa declined, unsure that she and Clarke would have the same tastes, but certain in the fact she could focus despite the quiet French. Besides, it was peaceful, if nothing else. But Lexa soon found herself with a very different problem. 

"I...have no idea what to draw," She sighed. 

To her surprise, Clarke laughed. 

"Yeah. Every artist's great barrier. Why not do something that's familiar to you to start?" She suggested. 

Lexa shrugged and returned to looking at the paper. The tip of the lead scraped a thin, small line against the paper and she was lost again. Whatever she wanted sounded liberal in theory but Lexa didn't have the faintest clue how to draw whatever was familiar to her. Eventually, she decided on an arrow. It was easy enough- a few straight lines, more lines for the fletching. More lines for the ridges of the tip. Gods it was boring. Lexa stopped to look up at Clarke, the way she occasionally bit her lower lip with focus or how the corners of her mouth would twitch in response to something- if it was upwards she liked what she saw and would continue drawing. If it was downwards it was quickly erased so Clarke could move onto something else. Occasionally she ran a hand through her hair as she considered whatever she was working on as a whole, and Lexa thought that watching Clarke draw was more interesting than drawing in practice. She was faintly disappointed when there was a knock at the door to announce the delivery of food. 

Clarke left her sketchpad face down on instinct while she went to go get the pizza and Lexa was tempted to see what she'd drawn. It seemed like a violation of her trust in some ways to just root through something like Clarke's art without permission though. 

When Clarke walked back in with the pizza, Lexa asked, "What were you drawing?"

Clarke, opening up a bottle of what Lexa assumed was whiskey, said, "Go ahead and look if you want." 

With a nod of thanks, Lexa picked up the book, turning it to face her. The piece Clarke had been working on was one where people were floating. Or maybe falling? It seemed like there was a lot of work put into the nondescript clothes and shading to make them as unrecognizable as possible. Another page was colored- trees hidden by some sort of dark green fog that screamed decay. Another picture of a crumbling city, nature overtaking everything, a figure standing among it all. Another was of fire consuming hands stretched upwards. 

Clarke didn't like to be known- indeed, most of what Lexa knew about her were surface level details. Things someone could discover just by asking her if they ever caught her. Her drawings, things that were supposedly revealing in their own right, were every bit as cryptic as the artist. The last one she flipped to was one of a man with shaggy hair and a crooked smile, carefully sketched but unfinished from the lines that became less focused and far less careful near the throat, vanishing at the collarbone with harsh swipes of a bad eraser. Lexa was so caught up in it she didn't notice Clarke behind her, looking over her shoulder at the drawings. 

“Finn,” She said suddenly, Lexa jumping at the sudden close proximity of the blonde. She almost dropped the sketchpad in an uncharacteristically clumsy move, but Clarke, in a smooth motion, extended her hand, catching the drawing pad before it fell. 

“Is...that who he is?” Lexa asked. 

Clarke gave a thoughtful nod. “He used to be easier to draw. Funny,” Though she said it in a way that communicated it really wasn’t all that funny. Lexa decided to change the subject. 

“What about the other things? People falling- the burning hands?” 

“You're terribly curious. That doesn't usually end well for the cat,” Clarke noted. 

"I think we have a different memory of that nursery rhyme."

Clarke leaned her cheek against her knuckles. "I wouldn't trust a story about something that has nine lives dying and coming back. Especially if I only had one."

“What I mean is your drawings are good. I just want to understand.” 

Clarke took a sip of the whiskey and replied, “Not everything has meaning, Lexa.” 

Lexa averted her gaze, feeling stupid for asking. Clarke added, “But those have some. Maybe I’ll tell you sometime. What did you make?” 

She nodded to Lexa’s sketchpad. She picked it up and Clarke stared, her expression unflappable. “It’s… got a lot of lines,” Clarke began. 

“It was supposed to be an arrow,” Lexa sighed. 

“I suggest you draw something familiar to you and you pick an arrow? I thought you worked at a gym.” 

“I used to bow hunt.” 

“What changed?” 

“Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.” 

Clarke gave a smile. “My own words turned against me- you’re good at that. Hopefully not too good.” 

"What does that mean?"

Clarke popped her neck. "Just that sometimes the things we're really good at can become our worst attributes. Listening so well you forget to speak, paying attention so closely that you miss out on the world around you, shit like that," Clarke wrinkled her nose. 

"I didn't realize the human condition could be encompassed by 'shit like that'," Lexa said. 

Clarke shrugged. "It's what you make of it, right? Everything is."

"And what do you make of our relationship?"

Clarke's smirk turned predatory. "Is that what you'd label our three interactions?" 

"What would you call it?" Lexa asked. 

"Hmmm," Clarke hummed. "If I was going to use the big words you seem so fond of, I might call it a flirtation." 

Lexa swallowed heavily with the implication. "Really?" She asked. 

Clarke took another drink before pausing the music. “Do I make you nervous, Lexa?” Clarke asked. 

“What would give you that idea?” Lexa asked, her voice miraculously steady. 

“You mean apart from the fact that you jump about fifteen feet anytime I’m near you?” Clarke offered the remainder of her nearly full glass to Lexa, who took it and a sip to steel herself for whatever Clarke was setting up. The blonde sat down next to her and asked, “Why is that? I'm not going to bite. Unless you ask. Nicely.” 

Lexa worked her jaw, swirled the contents of her glass and sighed, “It’s just…” 

Clarke tilted her head, looking at her as though she had all the time in the world to watch Lexa squirm. Lexa sighed and downed the rest of the glass- a poor choice with whiskey poured in a sizable tumbler as opposed to a shot glass, dearest reader, but she made it work. As always, Lexa decided to be honest with Clarke, since that really was the best policy. 

“I don’t actually know where I stand with you. I feel like we almost kissed but then we go for these huge gaps of time without seeing each other and you don’t really act like you are interested but then you do and I get really confused because I-” Lexa stopped when she saw Clarke smiling like the cat that caught the canary. 

“You’re adorable,” She said. 

Lexa was quiet for a few seconds while the blonde watched her and asked, “What am I supposed to do with that information, Clarke?” 

Clarke moved close to Lexa, as close as they’d been the night she’d come over to make soup for Lexa. It was as if time and space halted in the span of a few seconds, and Clarke stared at her like she was waiting for something. Lexa gave a barely perceivable nod that brought her lips to the same level as Clarke’s, and one of them closed the distance. It was hard to say who did it, but it hardly mattered. Lexa noted that Clarke was chilly, not cold as she had been all of the other times they’d touched, but still not quite on Lexa’s level of warmth. It was a shock that quickly faded as she seemed to warm the more that their lips moved in tandem with one another, Clarke letting out a soft sigh of relief. 

The angle was odd, and Clarke, seeming to pick up on that, adjusted so that she straddled Lexa’s lap, her hands moving up to draw senseless patterns against her throat, or to occasionally card her fingers through the waves of Lexa's hair. Lexa became dimly aware that Clarke was very much in control of things. She would occasionally slow, pause to gently nip at Lexa’s lower lip, and pick up where she’d left off. Or, occasionally change the angle, the pressure, the speed, bringing Lexa close to something that was intense before taking her back to teasing and gentle, if only because she knew she could. It seemed as if it was something she was very used to doing. Lexa, for her part, didn’t completely mind it. She was too caught up in the scent of cotton, the taste of whiskey and mint, the feeling of Clarke’s hands drifting down from her throat to the edge of her shirt, to care. Eventually, Clarke moved down from Lexa’s lips to lavish her throat with attention. An occasional bite, followed by the cool pressure of her tongue almost made Lexa’s eyes roll back. It was all almost enough to make her ignore the meows that seemed to grow closer and closer, until Bellamy was batting at Lexa’s nose. 

“Clarke,” Lexa groaned, her voice rough. Clarke gave a sigh, a borderline growl, and scraped her teeth against the spot that coaxed a shiver from Lexa once more before getting up to pick up Bellamy. “I’ll be back,” She promised, walking off with the cat in her arms while Lexa slowly began to regain her sluggish senses. Her mind was muddled with thoughts of how hot Clarke was, what would come next, and what the fuck she was doing. Lexa had had a few one night stands, but they really hadn’t been her thing. And now she was going to...what? Defile her neighbor’s very comfortable couch? Her neighbor, who was the daughter of Abigail Griffin? Someone who seemed like she could make her life even more miserable if she had the incentive?

Lexa took a shaky breath in- she didn’t even know anything about Clarke. What was she doing? She stood up and went to the kitchen, trying to think clearly. Part of her argued she was overthinking- that she could just go with the flow and take the stress relief. Another part argued that it was an awful idea, and that if Lexa really was entertaining thoughts of something deeper with Clarke, sex out of the gate probably wasn’t the best way to go about it. And how would Clarke handle Lexa turning her down? 

“You good?” Clarke’s voice calmed the storm of her thoughts and she turned to face her. Clarke stood in the living room with her hands in her pockets, looking somewhat concerned for Lexa. “You’re thinking awfully loud.” 

Lexa gave a short chuckle and moved to the living room to stand in front of Clarke. “Clarke,” She began, her chest tight. “I...the kissing was nice. Really nice. But...I don’t want to have sex with you right now.” 

Clarke tilted her head and Lexa expected shock or surprise, but she just seemed amused, like she’d heard a terrible pun. “I see,” She said. “You’ve got a girlfriend.” 

“No! Not even a little but…” She sighed. “I’d really like to take you out somewhere before we take that step. It’s not you it’s just...I’m really not good with one night stands with people I think I might like.” 

Clarke nodded and looked down, sighing heavily. “Yeah, okay. Makes sense. Hey, do you think you could just go?” 

“Go,” Lexa echoed. 

“Yeah. I’d appreciate it,” Clarke said, words tight. 

Lexa felt something in her tear just a little at the words, but she nodded and moved to the door, Clarke behind her. When she opened it, she stepped out, and Clarke closed it, locking the door behind her. For some reason, it felt definitive to Lexa. Like every other door around her had closed and locked. The tear was quickly wiped away by a kind of numbness that had built a semi-permanent residence within her. What had she really expected, turning down a girl like Clarke? She shuffled back into her place and spent the rest of the evening cuddling with Titus, watching some stupid documentary she barely heard until three in the morning when sleep decided it was merciful enough to take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole writing thing has lasted longer than most of my relationships. That being said, that M rating is there for different reasons so I hope none of you came here expecting anything from me other than purity. Like that one vine. But genuine.


	10. I'm Hip With the Nicotine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand we're now unrated.

Lexa spent the next three days adrift in autopilot. It was funny how easily acting that everything was alright came to her, more so than when everything was fine. And this, dearest reader, was because Lexa didn't care. She didn't care that she had one hundred contracts to review or that she needed to talk with the personal trainers about their numbers for the month. She didn't care that her coffee was cold when she finally sipped at it or that she ran herself to the point of raw exhaustion each night after being kicked out of Clarke's place. She didn't even care to look at Clarke's door when she passed it anymore. It seemed strange, some part of her thought, that the blonde held that much sway over her feelings. She'd been rejected before by people she was more familiar with than Clarke, and she'd been fine. Then again, some other part of her whispered, none of those people were Clarke.

The blonde didn’t text her, and she didn’t text Clarke either. Which, in some way, helped things. Lexa got close to just deleting the number a few times but never really burned that bridge. By the following Saturday she was feeling a little better. Or at least, good enough that staying in bed until she starved sounded very unappealing. 

So Lexa made herself a sandwich. Cutting the bread, putting it with the cheese and turkey, putting it in the oven for five minutes on high, by degrees, pun intended, she started to feel closer to normal. She ate it on the floor beside Titus while he noisily ate his kibble. Lexa had given him some turkey with it since he'd put up with her moping, which was probably more than he'd been expecting when she'd rescued him. She scratched his side, considering what she would do with her day while she thoughtfully chewed each crunchy bite. What was it about Clarke that had that much of an effect on her? She felt like Titus chasing his own nub. She couldn’t reach the thought she wanted, even though she knew it was there. And even if she realized it- what would it do for her, really? Help her move on? She could do that on her own terms, given enough time and space. It certainly wouldn't do anything for Clarke, who seemed determined at most turns to cut ties with Lexa via sabotaging every other interaction. 

Titus finished, his tail wagging gleefully at Lexa’s attention. He jumped at her to lick but Lexa said, "No," and he sat down, watching her intently, as though at any moment she’d throw on her comfortable socks and flop down on the couch to rewatch a documentary with him. "What do you think we should do today?" She asked. 

Titus gave an enthusiastic bark and Lexa returned it with a small smile, scratching behind his ears as she told him, "You know we don't have the military forces to take over the tri-state area."

Another bark. 

"I don't doubt your adorable eyes could sway them but it's the principal of the thing. What would we even do with that much space?"

Two excited barks, and Titus shook his head.

"You and I both know you couldn't possibly pee on all of it. But what about a nice day at the park? We could share a hotdog?"

Titus whimpered, his nails scratching excitedly at the tile. 

"Well, I know it isn't world domination but I think you'll just have to make do with fetch for the time being. Sound good?"

Titus gave an elated bark and spun in a circle, his tongue lolling out. It was small moments like these that reminded Lexa why she'd gotten a dog. Titus might not have always been the best behaved, but he woke up every day looking at Lexa like she never had an off day; like she couldn't do anything wrong. That made one of them, anyway. Lexa put on his harness and got him ready to go, grabbing some waters and opening the door, opening it just as Clarke had raised her fist to knock. 

And just like that, the air was knocked out of Lexa’s lungs. Part of her wanted to slam the door and go back to moping, because Clarke stood in front of her like a ray of sunshine in a blue sweatshirt smelling like cinnamon, spice, and everything she couldn’t have. Nice things, dearest reader, were often unattainable. Especially when one’s definition of ‘nice’ was exactly the opposite. Titus’ definition happened to be ‘things that hadn’t hurt his owner emotionally in the last week’ and in response, he barked at Clarke, snapping Lexa out of her reverie. “Hush,” She ordered. 

Titus did as she said but not before letting out a grumble and sitting down behind her. Lexa looked back at Clarke, who greeted her with a tired, “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Lexa said. 

“You think we could...talk?” 

“I was leaving, so, no. Not really,” Lexa said, barely feeling a sting at her own brush off.

“Okay, okay, I deserved that,” Clarke muttered. She took a deep breath and said, “Right. You are something special, Lexa. Two apologies from me in less than a year for my shitty behavior, I don’t think even my Mom’s achieved that one.” 

“That’s not an apology, Clarke,” Lexa said. Silence settled between them, heavier than steel and about as easy to cut through. Lexa was struck by how small and uncomfortable Clarke looked, the way her hands shifted in her pockets, how she had put her hair up in a messy ponytail, as though the thought of talking to Lexa had seized her in a second. It was strange, because if the blonde tried to put forward an image, it was one of complete control, even amidst the comfort of her own bubble. 

“I know,” Clarke snipped. “You deserve an actual apology. So I’m sorry that you expected something from me that I wasn’t offering or promising.” 

“Wow,” Lexa said, feeling something in her snap like a rubber band that had been tenuously stretched to its utter limit. That was what she’d moped for a week for? Clarke apologizing because she dared to feel a certain way? It seemed like that was what she needed to hear- she’d spent long enough thinking on some level that the sun shined out of Clarke’s ass when the truth was she didn’t want anything to do with Lexa. It was a spiritual cleansing that felt like Lexa’s stuffy nose finally unblocking. 

“Yeah, I know. I’d say it’s my best work yet,” Clarke said but Lexa noticed she didn’t meet her gaze, and that her hands had ceased to fidget in her pockets, opting to instead clench into fists. It settled into Lexa’s chest like a weight that Clarke didn’t mean a word she was saying. But it posed an entirely separate question. What was all of this for? Why did Clarke want to push her away? A better question might’ve been who was any of it really benefiting? Lexa took a slow breath, pulling herself back together, willing down the anger that burned in the back of her throat. She was reminded of Abigail more starkly than ever in the way that Clarke was almost able to coax her to lose what control over herself she’d spent most of her life cultivating, but she’d never let those words slip to Clarke. 

Dearest reader, one of the hardest things to offer another human being is mercy. Kindness. Perhaps it is not everyone’s opinion but seems to be the quality within us that separates humans from animals. The capacity for deeper understanding and compassion, especially for those weaker than us. It is a beautiful thing, but it was difficult to offer. Especially when it didn’t seem one was deserving of it. Especially when one was not deserving of it, and virtually impossible for . But what determined that threshold? It was different for everyone, and though Lexa hardly considered herself a compassionate or merciful person, something within her pressed for her to take the higher road. 

So Lexa offered, “Do you want to go to the park with me and TItus?” 

Clarke couldn’t hide the shock that skipped across her face quickly enough. It brought a kind of satisfaction to Lexa that the blonde wasn’t the only one able to coax a loss in composure. Clarke asked, “The park?” 

“Yes, you know. The place with the trees and the pond and the people,” Lexa drawled. 

Clarke rolled her eyes and the brunette continued, “It’s a nice day, he’s a chubby boy who could use the exercise, and it could give you inspiration for your art,” Lexa stated it like Clarke hadn’t tried to shove her out of her life in the most awkward way possible or that she’d confessed she had budding feelings for the confusing blonde. Clarke stared at her like she was the one who was recently concussed and it brought a small, sad smile to Lexa’s lips. “If you don’t want to-”

“No. I’ll come,” Clarke said resolutely. 

It seemed, Lexa thought, that the one way to guarantee Clarke would do something was point to the obvious way out. When they walked together, Lexa slowing to Clarke’s lackadaisical pace, she found that she could see things she normally missed when she was running with Titus. The old couple who fed the ducks corn and birdseed instead of bread, the man who played a soft melody on a worn acoustic guitar, the way that her breath curled up in slow puffs of smoke. Clarke moved like she had all the time in the world but didn’t care to look at it very long. Blue eyes would drift carelessly over details Lexa failed to catch as though she’d seen them a million times. That was, of course, until she looked at Lexa. 

Sometimes it was just a feeling Lexa had that Clarke was watching her. The hairs on the back of her neck would stand on end, and as she turned, Clarke would be looking elsewhere, a touch of pink in her cheeks. Other times, she would catch her watching. Each time she did seemed odd to Lexa, because for someone who wanted to brush the remains of whatever their relationship away, Clarke watched her like she wouldn’t see her again, with a kind of openness in her expression that made Lexa think she would break. Or, perhaps, she thought Lexa would break. In those moments, she would catch herself, nonchalantly shrug, and look elsewhere. 

The walk was quiet but more comfortable than any of their interactions up to that point had been. There wasn’t the nervous energy that Lexa had felt in the coffee shop, or the warring want like there had been in Clarke’s apartment. It felt stupidly easy. Almost like breathing; and Lexa wondered why it couldn't always be that way. 

Lexa stopped at the familiar hotdog cart, ordering one for herself and Clarke. Clarke asked for mustard, peppers, and guacamole on hers, while Lexa wrinkled her nose. “That’s pretty gross, Clarke.” 

“Are you really judging my taste miss ‘just ketchup’? Some of us like flavor apart from processed tomatoes,” Clarke sassed. 

“Hard to go wrong with a classic,” Lexa shrugged. The vendor cut a small piece off a hot dog to toss to an eager Titus before Lexa and Clarke found a bench by the pond to enjoy their lunch. The sun warmed Lexa’s skin and sent flashes along whatever ripples from the breeze disturbed the mirror-like surface of the pond. Titus laid by Lexa’s feet, huffing quietly with satisfaction, the peaceful mood affecting him as well. Lexa was almost surprised when Clarke was the one to break the silence. 

“I can’t give you what you want,” She said. 

Lexa looked over to her, waited to see if she would elaborate. But when she didn’t, she asked, “What does that mean, Clarke?” 

Clarke didn’t meet her gaze. Instead she worked her jaw, a habit she’d picked up from Lexa. “You want a relationship. I can’t give you that.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

Clarke took a slow breath. “Sex is pretty easy for me. It’s not meant to be a brag that’s just...how it is. You’re both happy and when it gets boring, it’s a clean cut. There’s no anniversaries, no promises, no one expects you to stay and no one’s surprised when you leave."

"You don't like commitment," Lexa concluded. 

"I haven't had the best relationship with it."

"How so?"

"Do anything long enough and you'll hate it," Clarke scoffed. "Besides, I don't think humans were really cut out for it. Look at their attention span. You really think anything concerning them will last forever?"

"That's a pretty cynical way to look at it."

Clarke shrugged. "I don't pretend to believe in something history's proven time and time again fails."

"Personal or overall history?"

"Both."

Lexa nodded and scratched at her jaw. "Well, I can't say you're wrong. People break up all the time. But I can't say you're right, either."

"Why's that?"

"Because if history's proven anything- to me, anyway- it's that there are no absolutes."

Clarke was silent for several minutes as the silence settled between them again. It wasn’t quite catharsis but Lexa felt like she was getting a better idea of who Clarke was. What stood out most obviously was that she was hurt. Or she’d been enough times that it’d left a scar on who she was, how she moved through the world, what she saw in it. It was a strange feeling, Lexa thought, to be on the outside looking in. How focused Clarke became on seeing only the negatives seemed to blind her to the potential positives. Eventually, she said, “Maybe. I mean, I came to your door absolutely sure you’d slam yours in my face at that shit apology.”

“So it really wasn’t your finest work.” 

“Clearly not if all it did was make you pity me.” 

“This isn’t pity, Clarke.” 

“What would you call it, then? Why ask me out here if you didn’t feel bad?” 

Lexa took a breath and turned her gaze out on the pond again, a breeze ruffling her hair. “I don’t know. You just seemed like you needed something.”

“I don’t need anything,” Clarke snipped, the walls coming up. 

“Okay, Clarke,” Lexa shrugged, knowing that fighting her would only dig the hole deeper. “But it’s okay to need things from time to time. Or to admit you need them.” 

Clarke fell quiet, and Lexa let her head loll back, the feeling of the hairs on the back of her neck prickling as the blonde stared at her. “So what do you need?” Clarke asked. 

Lexa shrugged. “Dunno. But I want a pizza.” 

Clarke gave a ragged laugh. “Yeah, I guess I did kind of fuck you over on that one.”

Lexa raised an eyebrow and turned to look at her. Clarke continued, “How about I do you one better and buy you dinner?”

Lexa regarded the pond thoughtfully and eventually said, quietly, “I can’t give you what you want, either, Clarke.” She rubbed the back of her neck, still watching the pond as she added, “I’m not your emotional punching bag or your therapist. And I'm no one's fuck buddy."

"What does that leave us with?" Clarke looked at Lexa. 

"We could be friends," Lexa offered.

Clarke snorted. 

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm sure that'll work out perfectly."

“Well, it’s perfectly possible if you can be an adult about it.” 

“Lexa, the only things we would do as ‘friends’ would be very adult,” Clarke proposed with a grin. Lexa stared at her and eventually the lecherous look slipped away. “Fine, kill all of my fun. I’m an adult. I can have friends.” 

“What a relief to hear. But if you’re serious about being friends, you can’t push me away or treat me like shit just because you’re having a rough time communicating.” 

Clarke’s mouth opened and she snipped, “I communicate perfectly well.” 

“So in addition to not giving me my pizza, you’re just going to lie to me. To my face. In front of my son,” Lexa said, indicating TItus. 

Clarke lightly punched her arm with a scoff. “Fine. Maybe I’m shit at a few things.” 

“Communicating, apologizing, commitment, you know- just the little things.” 

Clarke scoffed and sighed, “Fine. I’m bad at a lot of things.” She looked at Lexa honestly. “I don’t know why but being on bad terms with my neighbor feels like a violation of several codes. So I’m sorry, Lexa. For everything I did and, if we’re being honest, will probably do.” 

“Clarke,” Lexa began. 

“No, you should know. I’m not easy to hang around. But I’m willing to try to be better.” 

“A better what? Person? Lion Tamer? Astronaut?"

"Well I was thinking person but my drive to go to space could stand to see some improvement."

Lexa nodded thoughtfully and held up a hand, pinky extended. Clarke looked at it, then at Lexa. "Is this a joke?"

"I don't joke about pinky swears, Clarke."

"Aren't you like thirty?"

"I am absolutely not thirty!" Lexa exclaimed indignantly. "Where did you even pull that number from?" She shook her head. 

"I don't know, Lexa. That was a pretty bold denial for someone who claims to not be thirty." 

"That's like me saying you're fifty."

Clarke laughed. "Fuck, you'll have to go a little higher."

"You're avoiding this. I want you to promise you'll actually try to do better."

"Is that all?"

"And that you'll get me food."

"This isn't about self improvement- this is just a pyramid scheme for pizza, isn't it?"

Lexa stared at the blonde and Clarke said, "Eh, what the hell. I've done dumber shit for less."

"This isn't dumb," Lexa said as Clarke's finger wrapped around hers. 

"This is extremely stupid, Lexa, but there's no one else I would do it with. Mostly because people usually walk out of my life after the third conversation or so."

"If you keep saying depressing stuff I'm going to invest in a spray bottle of dopamine."

"Coming from a medical background, Lexa, I can professionally tell you that is not how that works in the slightest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the precipice of shit happening, constantly. There is no present.


	11. What Better Way to Fight Nature Than With More Nature?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The worst thing for me has usually been me.

“And this is where your office will be,” Anya said as she led Lexa through Arkadia. The place was completely empty so that the contractors could work, all of the equipment in storage, all of the employees and personal trainers sent elsewhere. If Lexa was being completely honest, there wasn’t much of a difference- it was still quiet, still empty. She’d taken Lexa to Abigail’s office, where all of the Doctor’s personal belongings had been removed. Lexa hadn’t been aware that the desk and minifridge were apart of that, though maybe Abigail was just being petty and wanted her to pay more for her own things. Anya continued, “The project manager talked about taking the light blue and whites and turning it over to maybe a nice gold and brown.”

Lexa wrinkled her nose. “I don’t really know a lot about color theory but that doesn’t sound like it would work well together.” 

“I thought so, too, so I suggested he follow the gray and green pattern we’ve been using,” Anya crossed her arms. “He agreed and unless you have some input it’s going to stay that way.”

“No, that’s perfect,” Lexa said, considering where she would put all of the new furniture. 

“Still thinking about futons and a spare clothing drawer?” Anya asked. 

Lexa stiffened, unaware that was what she’d been doing unconsciously, and cleared her throat. “Did the Doctor have anything to say?” 

“Besides the usual passive aggressive ‘fuck you’? Not really. She didn’t admit to anything about those physical therapy sessions, either. Said it’d be a breach in Doctor-Patient confidentiality.” 

“Figured,” Lexa sighed, though she got the impression that even if Abigail were at legal liberty to talk about it she wouldn’t. 

“You got anything going on this weekend?” Anya asked when they were back outside, taking out a cigarette from her purse. 

“No. I was thinking of hanging out with Clarke.” 

“I see,” Anya said in a way that was the verbal equivalent of an eyebrow raise.

“What?” 

“Nothing. I just think her and you are a fucking headache. Like one minute you’re all sad for no goddamn reason, the next you’re happy because you get to spend time with her. Honestly,” She took a drag after she lit it, “the two of you are going to give me whiplash.” 

“You don’t have to watch, Anya, I’m not a child about to stick my tongue in an outlet. Besides, Clarke and I are friends.” 

Anya scoffed. 

“Why does everyone keep doing that when I say that?” Lexa asked. 

“Well, I can’t speak for everyone, but I think that sounds like an awful idea,” Anya took another drag and let her cigarette dangle between her fingers as she considered her cousin. 

“Why is that?” Lexa asked. 

“Because she hurt you.” 

“What gives you that idea?” 

“Lexa, give me some credit- I graduated from Law School with honors. I can tell when there’s something different about your day and it’s really obvious when the difference is a whole woman.” 

“So you don’t like her?” 

“I haven’t met her.”

“That’s not the answer to my question.” 

“Lexa, I don’t really know Clarke. So I can’t give you an informed opinion. I don’t like that she’s hurt you, and I don’t like that you seem to care so much about someone you barely know.”

Lexa was quiet for a long time while Anya finished up her cigarette. 

“We’re friends,” She said.

“You shouldn’t even be that,” Anya replied. 

“Clarke’s not a bad person, Anya. And you don’t have the right to know everything that goes on in my life.” 

Anya gave a wolfish grin. “Show me in a law book where it says it’s illegal for me to be nosy about some girl who hurts my cousin’s feelings.” 

“You know what I’m saying.” 

“I do. So invite Clarke over to a game night with me, you, and Raven.” 

“Why would I do that?” 

“So I can tell if I should hate her or not.” 

Lexa punched her arm lightly and Anya amended, “It’d be a good chance for you to learn more about her.” 

“Somehow I doubt that. Clarke is...special.”

“Special?” 

“She’s more closed off than the Hope Diamonds.” 

“And probably about as cursed,” Anya added. 

“She would probably hurt your feelings.” 

“Doubt it.” 

Lexa pretended to be interested in a different corner of the room. Maybe it was a bit much to assume Clarke would hurt Anya’s feelings, but Clarke said a lot of things. She didn’t care about filtering what she said into something more palatable, even if it was a very good point, and she never seemed to consider that it might hurt someone until after the fact. And even then, as Lexa had seen, getting the blonde to admit she was wrong was like pulling teeth. 

“Just think about it. I know this whole ‘friendship is forever’ thing is new with you guys and I get it if you don’t wanna stress that by bringing her to meet me.” 

Lexa was quiet. It’d been two weeks since she’d had her talk with Clarke and they’d come to an agreement. In that time, they’d come over to each other's places a few times, Clarke working on art while Lexa just worked or Lexa occasionally working on art while Clarke watched one of the movies the brunette wholeheartedly recommend. Sometimes they would talk, other times they would just enjoy the fact they weren’t by themselves. Lexa particularly liked the presence of someone other than Titus, and Clarke, by degrees, seemed to be more considerate of what she said to Lexa. The brunette was gradually learning that Clarke had her own way of saying things. It was a bit like reading between the lines, something that was nice in the guise of something calloused or trivial. Lexa would have to talk to Clarke about that at some point, she decided, but in the fledgling stages of their friendship, they hadn’t beaten each other unconscious or fought, it was pretty nice. 

And so it was that night, around seven, when there was a knock at Lexa’s door announcing Clarke’s presence. Lexa stood up to open it and Clarke drifted in, a basket of food in on arm and a rice cake between her teeth. “Shup, loosher?” She asked. 

“What?”

A bite, followed by several crunches, and Clarke turned to her to say, “S’up loser? You can bow down at any time because I’ve brought the best blondies I’ve ever made, basically Heaven but better. Of course, there’s also Faworki and cream filled Snickerdoodles if you aren’t into blondies but, well...I know for a fact you’re into Blondies.” 

“Good evening to you too, Clarke,” Lexa said, closing the door behind her and locking it. She stood with Clarke in the kitchen and nibbled at a blondie while Clarke took the top off a bottle of bourbon to enjoy. 

“You’re stuck on a piece,” Lexa said with a slight smile. 

She’d learned that Clarke tended to bake things that were excessive both in quantity and sweetness when she was procrastinating on a piece. Because it was blondies she really liked the piece and didn’t want to give it up. The presence of other, foreign desserts meant it was a painting, so she had a long time to work on it and instead of doing that, she was branching out. “And cream filled Snickerdoodles. You like it.” 

Clarke sighed, “Look at you, psychoanalyzing. Next you’ll be telling me I want to fuck my father and murder my mother.” 

“Maybe the other way around.” 

Clarke mock gagged at the concept and said, “You wouldn’t bullshit with me if you weren’t putting something off, too. Still not talking to Roan?” 

Lexa frowned and placed down the blondie, “No.” 

“So what’d he do?” Clarke asked, taking a sip of her drink. 

“What?” 

“You don’t seem the type to hate someone unless they did something to you. What’d Roan do?”

Lexa was quiet for a long time, long enough for Clarke to doubt she would get her answers, so she began to move on. “So I found out the secret to making these bad boys perfect was-”

“Clarke,” Lexa said, the one word quieting her. “I lost someone special to me.” 

Clarke put her glass aside to lean on her forearms, quiet for once. “Her name was Costia. She came here with me years ago to start Trikru. When we started to gain some traction, Nia noticed. Things between us...weren’t great. And then Roan came in and…” Lexa drifted off. 

Clarke moved away from the counter and got another glass, sliding it to Lexa’s open hand when it was full of bourbon. Lexa continued, “She told me that I was the problem. That I never told her how I felt and just...shut myself off. It wasn’t until I saw her and Roan and Nia at an event that I learned Nia just wanted to stall me. Cut off Trikru at the knees.” 

“Huh, so much for honor among gym owners,” Clarke said. 

Lexa scoffed and took a drink. “I lost someone special to me, too,” Clarke admitted. 

When Lexa looked at her, she saw that the blonde wasn’t looking back. She just pet Bellamy, lightly scratching his throat. “His name was Finn. I thought whatever we had was special. That it would last forever."

"But?"

Clarke shrugged. "Nothing's forever, Lexa. Maybe you saw it with Costia- the way the things that you love about someone and are okay with turn into the things you hate about them." 

Lexa's memory drifted back to conversations with Costia in the beginning, about how she supported the idea of her changing majors, how she supported the idea of Trikru, how much she loved Lexa's dedication and stability. But those withered into questions- why was she out so late, why had she missed the dinner, why she wouldn't just tell her how she felt, why did she need to spend so much time with the personal trainers? Eventually it was quiet. The small one bedroom apartment was silent one day when she came home after three nights of sleeping in her office trying to sort out paperwork and finances so she and Costia would have a place to live for the next month and that the gym could stay open. She’d walked in with the hope that a piece of metal could fix what she'd broken, only to find Costia's things were gone. Just like the woman. Her throat had felt raw, like all of the nights they'd yelled at each other bled into one, and more than anything she'd wanted to cry. But her father's words echoed in some part of her mind, becoming like tidal waves in her soul. 

She’d made her choices, hadn’t opened herself up enough even though there had been times Lexa thought she would crack in the core of her being at what she bore to Costia. It wasn’t enough and it never would be, for anyone. 

“It’s alright,” Clarke said, breaking her sluggish mind out of the memories. “I used to think of Finn a lot, too.” 

“What changed?” 

“Well, my taste in home decor,” Clarke said. “You think you really like that ugly couch? Have someone you think you love get fucked on it by someone else. A table, a bed, a whole kitchen,” Clarke went down the list. “Pretty soon you’ll be a remodeling guru.”

“Is that your way of getting over stuff? Making fun of it?” 

“Why not? The sooner I can make it mean nothing to me, like a joke, the sooner it stops meaning anything and the sooner I can just get on with my life.” 

“Trivializing things doesn’t mean you’ve dealt with them, Clarke.” 

“Well it’s not like thinking about it helps. I mean, look at you- you’ve probably thought a lot about your stuff but you blame yourself for all of it, right? And the result is that you can’t even talk to Roan and Nia about getting their gym without thinking about it. Like,” Clarke put aside her drink. “It’s stupid. This should be a huge victory for you but instead you’re acting like you’re too chicken shit to take it by the throat.”

“I’m not chicken shit,” Lexa said.

“I dunno, Lexa, you’re acting pretty chicken shit to me.” 

Lexa slammed her palm on the counter top, saying, “I’m not.” 

Clarke tilted her head at her, looking for all the world like a cat about to pounce on its prey. The actual cat on her shoulders didn’t help the image. She simply said, “Prove it.” 

Lexa picked up her phone and called Roan, waiting until he picked up to say, “We’re meeting next Wednesday at-” She paused and looked at Clarke. 

“Do that one place...erm...Jaha’s,” She said.

“Jaha’s- I’ve seen your schedule, you’re free. Bring the contract,” With that, she hung up. 

“Well look at you, getting shit done...like an adult,” Clarke said, finishing off her drink while the reality of what Lexa had said and done sunk in. 

“Clarke, what the fuck- Jaha’s is expensive and requires two weeks notice for a reservation!” 

Clarke waved a hand. “I know the owner, it’s fine. Just...don’t give Roan or that ‘Cost Effective’ bitch any more control over you.” She refilled her drink. “Honestly, you’re better than that.”

Lexa blinked at her, realizing that Clarke had pushed her to do something she’d been putting off for far longer than was necessary. And it felt...terrifying. But also light, like some weight off of her gut and onto her shoulders where the rest of it went. She swallowed heavily and picked up her glass, taking a long drink until her limbs felt loose. She eventually told Clarke, “Anya wanted to invite you to a game night with her this weekend.” 

“Your cousin right?” 

“Yes.”

“Then no.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, some people like to play things like poker on game night. I get the sense she likes to play the one where she checks off as many boxes in her head to see how right she was about me.” 

“Anya wouldn’t do that.”

“What’s her job?” 

“A lawyer.”

“Lexa, she absolutely does it. Lawyers are basically soft Satan and I’ve associated with the devil more than enough for one lifetime.” Clarke leaned off of the counter top. “I’ll see you at your dinner, though. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Wells and his cooking is always pretty top tier.” 

“So you’re afraid of a lawyer you’ve never met?” 

“No, I just know how this’ll go. We’ll sit in a circle, sing kumbaya or whatever, she’ll tell you after that I’m manipulative, crude, self destructive, and self serving.” 

“And?” Lexa asked. 

“And what? Do you like your best qualities to be put on display for everyone to scrutinize?” 

“You seriously consider those to be your best qualities, Clarke?” 

“They’re certainly my least annoying ones.” 

Lexa stared at her and said, “You’re not as bad as you make yourself out to be.” 

“Oh?” 

“You helped me talk to Roan, told me about Finn. Hell, I don’t think I’ve even told Anya everything about Costia.” Lexa looked down at her hands. “I mean, you didn’t have to empathize or bring me sweets or encourage me. You didn’t even have to offer to arrange this whole thing with Roan.” 

Silence, and then, “That’s what friends are for, right?” 

Lexa looked up and saw Clarke watching her, glass between her fingers. She added, “You’re a good person, Lexa. You don’t deserve to be shit on by someone who didn’t see that.” 

Maybe, Lexa thought, Clarke felt that way about going to game night. Like she didn’t want to be judged any more than she already judged herself. 

“You’re not a bad person, either, Clarke. You just like to make everyone think you are.” 

The blonde put the glass down and said, “I’ve gotta get back to work. Just return that stuff to me when you come over next, yeah? The door’s unlocked.” 

Lexa snorted, “I thought you learned your lesson with that.” 

“It’s unlocked when I’m here not when I leave. I learn,” Clarke promised. 

Clarke unlocked Lexa’s door and headed out, leaving Lexa with enough sweets to give her diabetes and enough thoughts to give her a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyday, the moon drifts a little closer to us.


	12. If John Has Three Apples and You Never Existed, John Still Has Three Apples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take my life motto from The Labyrinth, 'Good times, bad food'.

Dearest reader, there are good days, and then there are exceptionally good days. And then there are bad days that go beyond adjectives, beyond the capacity of the english language to describe. They are the sorts of days that the narrator would say, ‘But she was horribly wrong’ in regards to. Lexa thought that perhaps that description would’ve perfectly encapsulated her meeting with Roan, or the looming threat of it. She stood outside Jaha’s with Anya, the blonde dressed in a simple business suit, same as always, while she stood dressed in a collared white button up under a simple green sweater, jeans, and oxfords. She checked her phone for the time on occasion, having clarified that she’d meant six in an email that Roan had answered cheerfully. Already she felt discomfort nagging at her, and she wanted nothing more than to leave as she toyed with the edge of her sleeve for the third time since the pair had arrived fifteen minutes early. 

“I feel like a hipster,” Lexa grumbled. 

“I’m sorry that gym attire isn’t accepted business casual,” Anya replied, sounding like she wasn’t sorry in the least. 

“You’d think the rules would change a little when you were in charge of a gym.”

“A professional is a professional, Lexa be they a CEO or a shit shoveller and between the two I’d rather you not look like the latter.” 

Lexa barely listened to Anya as she thought of where Clarke would be. She’d texted the blonde when she was ready but she hadn’t responded, so she’d assumed Clarke had ditched her, but she held out hope that that hadn’t been something the blonde would do. But she’d been as good as her word otherwise, as when Lexa called to reserve a spot, the arrangements had already been made, Clarke arranging it for six on the dot. 

“Anyway, this meeting’s long overdue.” 

“What if he brings Costia?” Lexa quietly asked. 

Anya put away her phone to give Lexa’s arm a gentle clasp as she said, “It’s been years, Lexa. After this you won’t have to think about her anymore. Assuming she comes at all.” 

“Right,” Lexa breathed. People broke up all the time- she’d told Clarke that. Six hit and Roan walked up, his black hair slicked back, wearing a black tuxedo. Beside him, her blonde hair short and blue eyes glittering like ice, was Costia. She wore a form fitting black dress, cut high up one thigh and low around the neck. She put an arm around Roan’s free one and greeted her with, “Lexa.” 

It was the civil tone of one who was trying to ignore that an association with someone else had gone down in flames. Lexa was torn. She felt rage boil in her gut- Costia didn’t have to come with Roan, didn’t have to go to Lexa’s rival, didn’t have to abandon Lexa. What right did she have to show up looking as though nothing had fazed her, like she hadn’t occupied years of Lexa’s life and dreams even after she’d stabbed the brunette in the back?

At the same time she felt the emptiness that usually accompanied memories of her. Memories of drowsy mornings where their hair was mussed, sleepy kisses, small dinners shared on the couch or on the floor while Lexa excitedly talked about all she’d learned from the trainers that day or how her class got a new sign up, the times they were in public when Lexa would reach out to hold her hand, just because she could and craved the warm softness of it. 

Anya spoke for her, saying, “Roan, Costia, I hope you’ve brought everything.” 

Roan nodded to the briefcase he carried, and the group turned to go into the restaurant as a familiar blonde walked out. Clarke was dressed in a paint splattered short sleeve, her hair pulled back into a half up, her pants ripped jeans, her shoes old canvas that looked like she’d drawn hands on them. In her hands were about four overflowing takeout bags worth of food. She carried a third by the handles between her teeth, the orientation throwing off the angle of the pitch black aviators she wore. 

“Leshha!” She said with an awkward smile as she adjusted her grip to take the bag out of her mouth. “What a completely expected surprise!” 

“Clarke?” Lexa said, confused more so at her odd appearance more than her appearance at all. 

“Who would this be?” Roan asked. 

“Clarke Griffin, amateur artist extraordinaire,” Clarke greeted Roan dryly. “Let me guess...you must be Tom Hiddleston’s backup's backup stunt double,” She pointed to Roan, then to Costia, “And you must be that cosplayer I see so much from that one magic book series! The name’s escaping me...Hairy Tupperware?” She tilted her head. “You're surprisingly feminine for a man.” 

“Clarke, a word?” Lexa growled, tugging the blonde aside. “What the actual fuck are you doing?!” 

Clarke leaned against the wall. “So there I was, sleeping, and around...eh, four? I figured I would go to Jaha’s a little early to catch up. So I enthusiastically made my way over here and Wells sent me out with...like… a month’s worth of food. Which I thought was weird because-”

“What was that introduction? Why are you talking to Roan and Costia that way?”

“Honestly, it's kind of a rule for me to make a poor introduction and, Lexa, I’m going to be brutally honest with you-”

“Are you ever not?”

“Always but that’s beside the point. You’re floundering out there. I can smell your angst like a shark smells blood, which is to say, from a metric fuckton of miles away. You want this deal to work out in your favor, right?” 

“Yes.”

“Then stop moping and treat this like the power play it absolutely is.” Clarke thought it over, adding, “And bring me sushi.” 

“You’re not eating with us?” 

Clarke scoffed, “Hell no. Dinners with exes are awkward. Besides, this is your thing. You get to show Castiel or whatever that you’ve grown as a person. And more than that, you’ve done it without someone as a crutch or some pissy vindictive move.” 

“I could still really use the support!” Lexa said. 

Clarke stared at her until she sighed and said, “Alright, I get your point. Still, you could sit in and make all of the passive aggressive comments I couldn’t.”

“As much as a good time as that sounds like, I’m not my mother. But, you know,” She gave her a kiss on the cheek so quick Lexa almost missed it. “For luck. Tell me how it goes, killer. I've got about eight pounds of ravioli to consume and or store.” 

With that, Clarke walked off, leaving a stunned Lexa watching after her until she walked back to the group, who Anya had distracted by talking to. “Who was that?” Roan asked. 

“My neighbor, Clarke. She’s...a lot,” Lexa said. 

“She seems like it,” Costia said with overt disdain. 

“We should be seated so we can eat,” Anya said, trying to get the group back on target. 

The dinner went better than Lexa had expected it to go. With Clarke’s introduction, Lexa was a bit more comfortable, and could imagine Costia as the cosplayer she’d mentioned. The blonde had actually shown her some of the man’s impressive portfolio and she could see some resemblance. Was Clarke in the wrong for calling the former love of her life a man in order to trivialize the issue as Lexa had told her not to? Yes. Had she handled it like an adult? No, but then again, Lexa didn’t really think of ‘adult’ as the adjective to describe Clarke. A noun, perhaps. It relaxed her, though, enough that she wasn’t distracted and was able to pick up on the fact that Roan was just a front for Nia- he didn’t actually know anything about the ins and outs of the gym’s business, he was a deterrent. When Costia went to use the bathroom, Lexa decided to level with him. “You don’t actually have any power with Azgeda,” She said. 

“No. As I’m sure you’ll recall- you negotiated me out of it initially,” Roan said, lightly swirling his glass of water. 

“Doesn’t seem like you’ve had a hard time,” Anya said. 

“I haven’t- there is a world beyond the gym you know. Still, I’m sure you’ve heard about her talking to the Mountain in the interest of just taking you down,” He nodded to Lexa.

“And?” Lexa asked. 

“Well, I wouldn’t appreciate it if she sold out my father’s legacy to them.” 

“And you think you would be better than her as the manager,” Lexa finished. 

Roan stared at her. “I hope this isn’t just about Costia.”

“It’s not. Nia’s proven that she isn’t trustworthy and you, despite our checkered past, have been pretty consistent. You stayed away from Azgeda, from me.” 

“Because I place a lot of value on my word.” 

Costia sat back down as Lexa considered what Roan said and nodded. “Very well. Anya,” She looked at her cousin. “We have some rewrites to the contract to take into account.” 

Anya’s smile in response was tight, because it meant more time, more work, but Lexa shook her head, a nonverbal ‘trust me’. Anya seemed to accept, and sighed, taking the contract from Roan. “From now on, all business concerning Azgeda and its well-being will pass through you. We’ll sign off on all necessary paperwork next week.” 

“You have my appreciation, Lexa,” Roan said. 

“I’ll need more than that before I can consider this a win for either of us.” 

“Of course, name a time and a place, and I’ll be there.” 

The rest of the dinner passed fairly quietly, with Lexa and Anya only occasionally asking Roan about what changes he agreed with or disagreed with in regards to the contract. What Lexa gathered was the man was very straightforward about what he wanted and didn’t want, refreshingly blunt about his opinions concerning the Coalition’s direction, how he would support it, and the moves he would advise in terms of marketing, advertisement, and overall broadcasting of the gym. 

“We need to make this more open to the members, offer up incentive for their cash. Instead of things like new TVs that they won’t watch while they’re bench pressing or running, we could invest in health trips, hikes, vacations to places that would promote wellness and health among the membership. Events, conferences for people who want to get into the industry and as a way to network if they aren’t already in it,” He pressed. 

“Interesting,” Lexa said, though Anya was already writing it down. Lexa had said something similar in regards to Trikru when she’d started, finding the limiting factors to be money, growth, and local competition. Without those in her way, she could actually begin to fulfill it. Roan didn’t seem as ambitious as Nia, but Lexa thought that could change with time, and made a mental note to keep an eye on him. When the time came to pay, Wells Jaha, the head chef, walked out to tell Lexa that Clarke had taken care of it, and passed her the receipt with a drawing of a thumbs up on it. 

“Some neighbor,” Roan noted. 

“Yeah,” Lexa agreed numbly. Some neighbor. She walked back so that she could go to a sushi place along the way Clarke had talked about a few times. It was more of a stand, really, and if it were up to Lexa she wouldn’t trust it. But Clarke seemed to enjoy it. The old man who spoke two words of English- ‘sushi’ and the total for the order- was efficient and Lexa had a box of the wrapped raw fish for Clarke within five minutes. He passed Lexa a handful of fortune cookies and Lexa headed back towards her apartment. 

All things considered, the night had gone well, much better than Lexa had expected. It probably helped that Costia hadn’t really spoken to Lexa and that was fine, because Lexa hadn’t really wanted to talk anyway. She looked forward, instead, to Clarke giving her a cup of hot chocolate in celebration of the dinner not going horribly and spiking her own with vodka. She’d chow down on the sushi while Lexa asked about whatever art work she was working on, telling her in the vaguest of ways how she did it before giving up and showing Lexa. Lexa would watch Clarke turn a single line into a hand wrapped in red, a woman crying, a dog, an iceberg crumbling, all of it without a reference, all of it with the same focus as if she were recalling the memories and placing them on paper. 

Lexa considered it all until she walked up the stairs, walked out of the stairwell onto her floor, and stopped when she saw three men outside of Clarke’s door. One of them was knelt next to the knob, like he was looking in or trying to pick the lock. The other two stood by him, watching up and down the hallway for anyone. And anyone, sadly, happened to be Lexa. 

One of the men, a familiar face that Lexa could recall choking, glared at her and said, “You-!”

Lexa didn’t stick around to listen. She didn't even hold onto the sushi she'd spent her own money on. Instead, she turned around, going back into the stairwell and moving down the floors faster than she had before. The idea struck Lexa that if there was a God, he seemed to have it out for Lexa. Or maybe for Clarke and then Lexa as an added bonus for ever finding the blonde to be attractive. Either way she was not on very good terms with the hypothetical God. Lexa's train of thought was broken by a shot fired from a gun narrowly missing her. Instinct took over, and she ducked into a hallway, running towards the fire escape. As she went, she slammed on doors, screaming for help. There was something campy about it, some part of her that would reflect on it later without the lens of fear thought, but Lexa needed eyes and ears, people. She imagined the three men didn't have enough ammunition to dispatch an entire apartment building, and between looking campy and surviving, she had an idea of which she preferred. 

By the time Lexa hit the fire escape, the door to the stairwell was opening, but people were already coming out of their apartments, confused, blocking the path. Good. Lexa's lungs burned as she managed to get down to the alley and dialed for the police. Or she might've, if an arm hadn't wrapped around her throat. She yelped as the burly limb only tightened around her throat. Very soon, she thought, she wouldn't be able to breathe. She brought her arm back against a head repeatedly, the strikes not carrying enough force to stun but just enough to inconvenience the man who held her so that his grip loosened. She gasped for air, bringing her heel down on his foot so that she was free before she screamed, "Help-!" 

She found herself cut off again by the man recovering enough to grab her by the throat and wrestle her to the ground. It was too dark to really see his features, except for mad eyes and the glint of a gun as he put it to her head. 

"Drop the snack," A voice ordered. The man jerked Lexa to her feet and she saw a woman standing at the other end of the alley. The silhouette was vague but the voice, devoid of urgency or real concern, was unmistakably Clarke's. She continued, "First you thugs throw my friend, then you drag a hot brunette into this- you're breaking my heart," She began to move forward when he cocked the weapon, holding it up to Lexa's skull. 

"Clarke, get help-" She began to say, but the man slammed the butt of the gun against her jaw. Lexa saw stars and felt the breath get knocked out of her nose as the taste of blood swirled in her mouth. The sheer shock of it made her go limp, but the man was more than strong enough to support her weight. "Not a step further you bitch," He snarled. "Or I'll spread your whore's brains all over the wall."

"You fuck your mother with that mouth?" Clarke taunted crudely. Lexa wanted nothing more than for her to shut up and get help but leave it to Clarke to turn a fight for her life into a chance to banter. "Listen, uh… I'm just gonna say John Doe- because that's what the coroner's report will probably say- you've caught me at the tail end of a shit mood. All four of your friends are dead- and yes, I found your friend driving the car because that is how pissed off you've made me that you even breathed in this area again. You all violated the Compact, but I'm pretty bored with blood lust tonight. So I'll give you three seconds to drop the gun, run, and maybe get away? Because I know you aren't packing silver bullets or a spine. One," Clarke began. 

The arm around Lexa's throat tightened, the gun shaking against her head as the man shouted, "I'll fucking kill her, I swear!"

"Cool, then you get to die with someone else's blood on you. Messy, but symbolic if you’re sentimental. Two," Clarke said, the casual dismissal of Lexa's life making something in her go cold. She could actually die, she thought, in the arm of a stranger, for someone who didn't care. Essentially nothing. The sad irony was figuring it out on the cusp of her life ending. She closed her eyes, ready for the void to swallow her...and felt only the sudden pull of gravity as she fell from the man’s too warm body onto the cold ground, gasping out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding as the man ran away. Clarke’s careless tone dropped into one of deadly monotony as she growled, quite literally, growled, “Three.” 

Lexa was thrown backwards on the ground as a gust of wind slammed into her, which didn’t really seem fair as it slammed her back and the already abused back of her head into the concrete. She barely had time to stagger to her knees and realize that Clarke wasn’t standing where she had been any longer, and that the man was kneeling on the ground, Clarke wrapping her arms around him as she buried her face into his shoulder. Lexa could hear him faintly gasping in the quiet. In the light of the streetlamp at the other end of the alley, she could see Clarke shove the man down, tearing a spray of red from his throat that covered the front of her already bloodied shirt and her mouth in it. When he stared at Lexa, throat savagely torn, she could see his face was frozen, not in fear, but in glee, an impossibly wide smile on his features even as he twitched slightly and blood sluggishly trickled down his face.

Clarke spat a stream of red down at the body and took out her phone, typing on it quickly as though she hadn’t just taken a life.

Lexa wasn’t sure what to do. So her body decided for her. She vomited, her stomach clenching around nothing as the headache began to settle in her skull. Not ‘a’ headache, 'the' headache. The kind that made her whole body flash with white hot agony between each pulse. Even her thoughts, rattling around like a caged animal, made her existence hurt. There were footsteps, quiet at first, that gradually became louder as Clarke kneeled about five feet away from Lexa and said, “Well, I don’t think I’ve seen that reaction before.” She tilted her head. “Are you badly hurt?” 

Clarke’s voice was quiet, more soothing than Lexa had known it to ever be. It felt...wrong. And given everything that had just happened- Clarke gambling with her life and then proceeding to kill a man- she wished she could just black out. She could feel it clawing at her, cloying her sweetly into darkness. Instead she resisted, and she snapped, “What the fuck do you think?!” 

Clarke sighed, “Yeah, okay, that’s fair. Look, I know you really don’t want my help right now. I know that you’ve seen and heard a lot. Right now, I need you to try to put that aside and trust that I’ve got your best interests at heart.” 

“A man looked you in the eyes, threatened, graphically, to shoot me, to which you replied ‘do it’, you then killed him in front of me, and you honestly expect me to believe you care?" She was interrupted by another dry heave that made her sides ache. With a shuddering breath, she continued, "Go fuck yourself, Clarke Griffin.”

With that, Lexa ended her day by unceremoniously losing consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, yes, I was planning this the entire time.


	13. I, For One, Welcome Our Corn Overlords.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love waiting for weeks for someone to answer a heartfelt existential question with 'nope'.

Lexa came to with the sound of a heart monitor keeping an eye on her vitals while an I.V. fed her something clear through a tube in her arm. Her body felt like a bruise, and though the lights in the room weren't that bright, they still made her head throb. When she turned her neck so she could look around, she saw that she was in a room with a glass window that let her see she was in a hospital. Nurses bustled around, and occasionally a flash of white moved through- a doctor. She found herself unintentionally thinking about Clarke, what she must've looked like in her own hospital. But, of course, thoughts of the blonde only pulled back memories of the previous...night? She didn't know how long she'd been out, only that she'd watched Clarke Griffin rip out a man's throat. 

She could feel her stomach clench but it had nothing to vomit, so she laid back and groaned.

"Need me to call a nurse?" Clarke asked from her right. Were Lexa anyone else, she would've been terrified, but the truth was she would've been surprised if Clarke wasn't close by after what she witnessed. She turned to look at the blonde and saw that she'd changed clothes, washed her face, washed off the facade of not caring. She frowned at Lexa, her right knee bouncing. 

"I would prefer an exorcist," Lexa grumbled. "Why are you here, Clarke? Come to give me a love bite?" She asked it bitterly and Clarke's knee stilled. 

She sat back and said, "No."

"Why, then?"

"Because this is my fault," She admitted easily. 

"Why did it happen to begin with, Clarke?" Lexa asked. 

Clarke seemed to think something over before sighing, "Look, I don't really open up to people. Feelings, my past, none of it's really for me. Before you passed out you told me to go fuck myself. Which, ballsy considering I'd ripped a man's throat out in front of you-"

"The point, Clarke."

"Right, I don't want to tell you anything unless you're in it for the long haul. It's a matter of safety for a lot of people, you included. You say you don't want to hear it, or see me again, I'll respect that and leave you alone forever. You say you want me to be honest with you, and you'll get the whole truth."

Lexa stared at Clarke, weighing her options. On the one hand it seemed like it would be less effort for the blonde to just disappear. It looked like something Clarke was used to and it left fewer questions. She asked, "Will those men come for me if you're gone?"

Clarke thought it over. "Not those ones specifically. They're dead. But people will come around and people will ask questions. That's why I don't really make friends."

"What changed?"

Clarke gave a small shrug. "You're special, I guess."

Lexa thought of what she'd told Anya about Clarke, the same words but with a different inflection. One she couldn't place. She asked Clarke, "Would they try to hurt me?"

"I don't know. If I stayed I could offer you protection." 

"What kind of protection?"

"What kind do you think?" Clarke asked with an eye roll. 

"I don't know, Clarke! I thought I could protect myself and I thought you were my friend!"

That struck something. Clarke frowned, her gaze dropping to where her hands clasped over her knees. Things were quiet between them, save for Lexa's vitals which slowly returned to some semblance of normal. Lexa was infuriated- where did Clarke get the right to gamble with her life and then look like she was hurt by anything? Clearly she'd put so low a value on Lexa that she'd been ready to see her die. Clarke looked up at Lexa, saying in a fragile tone, "I never wanted you to get hurt."

"So why is it that you always seem to be the one who hurts me?"

Clarke sighed, letting her head- perpetually tilted, always so sure and proud- fall. She stood up, telling Lexa, "You have my number. If you decide you don't want to know, or don't want to talk, I'll be gone in three days. That number won't work, you'll never hear the name 'Clarke Griffin' again."

“Where are you going?”

“Mysteriously vanishing takes work, Lexa.”

“And if I want to know?” Lexa asked. 

Clarke looked at Lexa, a humorless smile on her lips. “It’d be better if you didn’t.”

Clarke left the room, left Lexa alone with her thoughts. She wondered if the hospital really was safe, but she doubted Clarke would leave her there if it wasn’t. She sighed- Clarke. She couldn't decide if she was infuriated by the blonde or grateful that she'd saved her life. Or maybe she was just getting the men off her back? And now the question of if she wanted to really know what Clarke's deal was. The question wasn't if it was worth it- were it anyone else Lexa might've found the entire thing fascinating. But the universe had a twisted sense of humor, and so it was Clarke- the girl who'd bucked Lexa's senses at every opportunity to understand. So the question at its core was: was Clarke worth it? Was she worth the possibility of more concussions, death, and mayhem? Was really knowing her worth sweets, alcohol, and the promise that blonde hair and the scent of cinnamon stayed in her life? It would've been easy to let Clarke go and move on with her life, focused on the minutiae that her preoccupied her long before the blonde. 

Her thoughts didn't go much further, because Anya walked in, followed by Raven. "Jesus, Lexa, could you figure out a hobby that isn't hospital tourism?!" Anya asked.

"What's she doing here?" Lexa asked, staring at Raven. 

Anaya looked back at Raven, who smoothly explained, "We were having breakfast when Anya got the call that you were here."

"But you're here."

"I can go to the waiting room?" Raven said with a helpless shrug, unsure as to the source of Lexa's hostility towards her. 

"Lexa, what's up?" Anya asked, picking up on it as well. "Did something happen with Clarke?"

Lexa looked at Anya and quickly replied, "No, I just…" She floundered. "Why were you out for coffee?" She thought slipping into her usual skepticism about Raven's motives with Anya would cover up her suspicion well enough.

Anya seemed to buy it, her gaze narrowed as she asked, "You're in the hospital for a concussion for the second time this year and you're concerned about who I'm spending my time with?"

"Your jaw looks pretty bad," Raven noted. A quick touch to the warm skin revealed that where she'd been hit was mildly swollen. Less than she expected it to be for having just received it. 

"How long ago was our dinner with Roan?" Lexa asked.

"Two days ago," Anya answered. Two days she'd been unconscious, and somehow Clarke had stopped Anya from being notified. 

“Anya,” Lexa began carefully, “Could you go get me some water?”

“Sure. I have to find your doctor anyway, figure out how long you’ll be down this time.” 

“_Ge smak daun,_” Lexa shrugged. 

Anya left her and Raven alone, and the Latina seemed to sense it wasn’t just according to chance. “Clarke told me what happened,” She said, cutting through the quiet. She moved around the room, sliding one of the seats out with the toe of her shoe and carelessly moving it towards the chair near Lexa’s bed. She plopped down into unceremoniously, her left leg popping up to rest against the seat, while her right crossed over the knee. 

“You talk to Clarke a lot?” 

“She’s my best friend, so…” 

“Did she ask you to keep an eye on me?”

“Yeah,” Raven said, tucking her hands into the pockets of Anya’s old letterman jacket from her days on the swim team. A thought occurred to Lexa. 

“Is that why you’re with my cousin?” 

“No,” Raven quickly said. “I wouldn’t use Anya like that.”

“And you aren’t now?” 

Raven glared, “The timing was bad. Like I said, we were having breakfast.” She inhaled slowly and on the long exhale, explained, “But even if we weren’t, you and I would’ve run into each other at some point.” 

“You’re being very honest.” 

“You’re not asking about anything I can’t talk about or that you wouldn’t figure out anyway.”

Lexa thought over everything she’d discussed with Clarke and asked, “Does she have a gag order on you too?”

“It’s not personal, boss,” Raven said, shifting her gaze away from Lexa like Titus did when he’d chewed up a pillow. 

“What can you tell me?” 

Raven scratched her jaw, eventually saying, “Just harmless stuff.” 

“If I don’t take Clarke up on her offer will you vanish, too?”

“Yes,” Raven said. 

“What about Anya?” 

Raven frowned and stayed quiet. So it was a sore spot. Lexa wondered what would happen if she asked, but she felt it was unfair to put Raven in that position and that Anya wouldn’t believe her if she explained why she needed her to ask. Raven said, “I...I would leave,” but her tone, the hesitation it all screamed that she would go unwillingly. 

Lexa changed topics, since it seemed to make her uncomfortable. “Clarke seems to rely heavily on you.” 

Raven looked back at Lexa and nodded. Lexa pressed, “Why?” 

Raven thought it over and replied, “It’s...a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere for a bit.” 

She leaned her head back so that she looked up at the dimpled ceiling as though it was replaying the memories. “I’ll shorten it. Make it easy for both of us. I wasn’t kidding when I said Abby was like a second Mom to me- helped put me through college with Clarke. That was where I met Finn. Clarke hadn’t really talked about him so I didn’t really know that they were an on-off thing until she came home to find us...well, it wasn’t pretty. Finn ran away and left me and Clarke to deal with each other. After I gave her a black eye and she gave me a busted lip, we talked it out and I guess it just set in that Finn never really cared to begin with."

"That was it?"

"Nah- but I did say I'd shorten it. Clarke did me a few favors, I did her a few more. Basically we’re sisters now.” As Raven finished her story, the door opened and Anya walked in followed by the doctor, a tall man who informed Lexa she’d need to stay home for two days under strict supervision with medication for her second concussion. On the ride back, Raven and Anya talked about Raven taking the time off to watch Lexa instead of Anya. 

“I should-” Anya began. 

“No- you were just saying you have all this paperwork and a firm that’s interested in taking you on, right? You should focus on that- Arkadia won’t miss me too much for two days.” 

Lexa, listening in, found it difficult to argue against that, though it was partially because she was in danger of falling asleep constantly. She barely recalled Raven walking her to her place, and barely paid attention when she put on Wrestlemania to keep her awake. Before long, she was offering up all the sweets Clarke had brought over, which only served to make Lexa sick to her stomach. Eventually, Lexa asked, "How did you know Finn didn't care?"

Raven caught on immediately and said, "Lexa, there's no point in trying to compare Clarke to Finn."

"Why not?" Lexa snapped. 

"It's not a one to one comparison. For one thing, Finn's a guy. For another thing, Clarke's got… her own way of showing she cares and it's usually through choice." 

She leaned back and pet Titus. "I don't know what you saw that night, but Clarke's giving you a chance to back out of all of it to cut ties with her."

"How is any of that a bad thing?"

"Well, don't tell anyone I told you but you mean a lot to Clarke. I mean, I've known her for a while and I don't think I ever saw her as happy as she was when she was talking about making shit with you around or how much you gushed about the gym. She's bad at showing it, for sure, but she cares that you're in her life."

“I’m still not hearing any positives, Raven. All I’ve gotten from knowing Clarke was two concussions and a permanent prescription for headache medication.” 

“So the deal with Azgeda fell through?” Raven asked. 

Lexa fell quiet. “And all the food you have now that you didn’t have to make for yourself- some of it’s even healthy!”

“Raven, that’s the food I made,” Lexa corrected. 

“Oh. I’m gonna go make a sandwich. Don’t die on me, alright?” Raven said, hopping up. Lexa nodded numbly. Dearest reader, one of the more annoying habits one can develop is the propensity to keep score. How much one is hurt by those they care about or what they do to aid them and vice versa. Lexa, naturally, was competitive and kept score even when she wasn’t aware of it. The odds were not in Clarke’s favor if one objectively examined everything. But then again, Lexa felt that anyone who could call her big ex a man to her face was probably someone who deserved at least some consideration. Lexa leaned her head back and Titus whimpered. Raven had been good about taking him outside with Lexa but considering how close she’d been to passing out most of the time. 

“Yeah, sorry I keep getting beaten up. Again,” Lexa sighed. “Am I being a pushover?” 

“I mean,” Raven plopped down with a foot-long sandwich that held all of the meat Lexa usually ate in a week. “Yes.”

“I was talking to the dog,” Lexa replied dryly. 

“I know,” Raven said, taking a massive chomp from her sandwich. When Raven permitted her to fall asleep, she did so as if it was on command, Raven swapping from Wrestlemania to some sort of animated movie. When she woke up, Raven was still there, and munched on some carrot sticks. 

"How long was I out?" Lexa asked drowsily. 

"About eight hours. I raided your food."

Lexa nodded- her thoughts still felt fuzzy, and her head hurt, but she knew that she needed to talk to Clarke. With a sniff, she took out her phone and messaged the blonde just that, and laid back on the couch, fully expecting to get and take advantage of another eight hours of sleep. Her eyes closed, and she opened them slowly to two voices conversing, which wouldn't have been concerning if the television had been on. 

Lexa blinked, trying to force herself to focus as she slowly raised her head to peer over the sofa at the direction of the voices. Clarke sat on her countertop while Raven leaned against the bar, both of them holding a piece of pizza. Clarke said, "What do you mean Anya's a problem? I thought you two were hitting it off like flint and steel."

"We are. I just…"

"Oh! Oh. Well."

"I tried to take it slow-"

"No, I understand. Far be it from me to stand in the way of nature. Or you."

"Clarke I-" Raven stopped. She looked behind her at Lexa and said, "Well, well, morning Sunshine."

Lexa climbed to her feet and stretched, her back popping as she moved. "How long was I out?"

"Mmm...twelve hours or so," Raven shrugged. Lexa's heart stopped- she checked her phone from when she texted Clarke and, sure enough, it'd been half a day. She groaned- her sleep schedule was going to be extremely messed up. 

Clarke took a bite of her pizza, politely letting Lexa stretch and wake up before she asked, "You called?"

"Why have Raven watch me?"

"Mmmm...protection."

"In case more of those guys show up?"

"It was more so in case you decided that you would go against the doctor's orders- as you have before- and do something while freshly concussed. But that she's more than qualified to protect you from them is a side bonus."

Lexa nodded and said, "I want to know."

Clarke frowned, "Lexa, I understand that you're injured, and probably not in the-"

"I want to know, Clarke."

"Best state of mind to make choices for yourself. Maybe you should-"

"Do I need to spell it out for you? I want to know, Clarke. All of it. You owe me that much," Lexa glared. 

Clarke blinked slowly and slid off the counter saying, "Excuse me? I owe you?"

"Ah shit," Raven muttered.

"In case you didn't realize I saved your life, put Raven in charge of watching you to make sure you were safe, if anything, I'm owed a 'thanks, Clarke'-"

"You really think I owe you anything after you called me a snack?!" Lexa scoffed.

"In some circles that's a compliment!"

"In some circles they don't literally rip people's throats out with their teeth!"

"Jesus would you both shut the Hell up?!" Raven snapped. "This night is sensory overload in the making. You-" She turned to Clarke, "Stop being a bitch and trying to push her away because it's easy and you," She turned to Lexa, "Quit falling for the fucking bait! God damn- I can't believe you're both in charge of me and you bicker like three year olds! _Hijos de putas_\- and now I don’t want pizza!” 

She grabbed her jacket, throwing open the front door. “Where are you going?” Clarke asked, though not in a tone that sounded concerned that she was leaving. 

“To cuddle Anya!” She said before slamming the door. 

Clarke scratched her cheek and somewhat awkwardly said, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an angry cuddle.” 

“She’s right, though,” Lexa said. 

“Raven has been hanging around Octavia too much,” Clarke muttered. “I guess this is the part where I should actually apologize.”

“I don’t want an apology, Clarke. Not if it means nothing or that you don’t change.”

“I’m trying-” Clarke began, she took a deep breath and seemed to focus herself. “It’s not easy to break a habit. Especially not when it’s easier for everyone, like Raven said.”

“It can’t be easier to make a whole new identity for yourself than it is to just tell the truth.” 

Clarke puffed out her cheeks on her exhale. “You would be surprised. Want pizza?” 

She nodded to the four open boxes, three of which had been demolished. Lexa nodded and appreciatively took a slice. As she chewed on the warm bite, Clarke began, “So...where to begin…?” 

She sat back down on the counter-top, her knee twitching once, twice as though it wanted to shake on a solid surface, only to still at the absence of one. Clarke’s hands took up the nervous tattoo instead, drumming dully on the corner between her thighs as she best tried to think of how to phrase it. “I guess the easiest way to put it is I’m a vampire.” 

Lexa ceased chewing and stared at the blonde. She nodded slowly and swallowed, eventually saying, “Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“So...you’re not gonna demand proof? Make me stand out in the sun? Show you my fangs? Change eye color?” 

“Well...I’ve seen you in the sun and I don’t think you burst into flame or sparkled. Can your eyes change color?”

“No?”

“Then there’s no point to that demand. Do you have fangs?”

“Yeah and I-”

“Clarke, they’re just really sharp teeth, right?” 

“I mean, yeah, but-” Clarke began.

“Like canines?”

Clarke scoffed. “You don’t actually believe me, do you?” 

“I mean, you seem to believe you’re a vampire and I’ve seen you do some weird stuff in the last week or so.” 

“How is it you freak out over me shit talking your ex but I tell you I’m a vampire and you’re just like, ‘eh’?!” 

Lexa, for lack of a better response, shrugged. “I mean, your blatant lack of concern with the value of life is overtly concerning, but how is being undead an excuse for being an asshole?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can't forget Twilight.


	14. Some People's Bar For Satan is Tragically Low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's like two fanfics for the price of one.

“So that’s it, then?” Clarke asked.

“You haven’t answered my question, Clarke,” Lexa pressed. “Why did you act the way you did if all you were hiding from me was that you think you’re a vampire?”

“I don’t _think_, Lexa, I know. And there’s more to it than that,” Clarke snipped. 

“How much more?” Lexa asked. 

Clarke took a slow breath and asked, “Do you want to go out on the balcony?” 

“I’m in pyjamas, Clarke, why would I want to do that?” 

“Oh, you know, the warm weather, the pleasant company, and maybe I’m trying to answer your question?” Clarke said. 

Lexa blinked, finished off her pizza, and muttered, “This better be worth it,” as she wrapped herself up in a blanket and walked out with the blonde. Clarke seemed unbothered by the cold. If anything, she seemed to relish being outside. Lexa, on the other hand, relished it less, and her teeth chattered as she said, “We’re out, now wh-wh-what-”

“Here,” Clarke said, passing over her jacket. Lexa took it cautiously and put it on, finding it to be heavy, fur lined, and more than adequate protection from the wind, at least in regards to her torso. Clarke exhaled a cone of smoke and asked, “What do you see?” 

Lexa looked out and shrugged, “The city.” 

“You’re right,” Clarke sighed. “3.75 million people with an average of 2 moving in per day, and about 390.7 deaths per 100,000.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed that you know statistics?” 

“How many supernatural creatures do you think are in this city, Lexa?” Clarke asked, not looking at the brunette. 

Lexa looked out at the city and said, “I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

“6,000?”

Clarke tilted her head. “Not quite. It’s closer to… 1.87 million. Can you guess what has two thumbs and is in charge of making sure no one knows that?”

Lexa looked at Clarke and the blonde smiled bitterly. “I told you there was a lot at stake in being honest with you.”

“You don’t have to tell me this, Clarke.”

“No, it would come up one way or another,” Clarke said, straightening up to look at Lexa solemnly. “I don’t like lying, Lexa. Not to the people I like, or my friends, but I can’t risk the people I love, the people I’m in charge of, over someone who might not really be interested in sticking around- or someone who I may not be interested in being around for very long.” 

“So your attitude is what? A litmus test?” 

“Not quite. You’re smart, put two and two together.” 

“You didn’t want to lie, so you just made it that people wanted to leave you alone.”

“Bingo,” Clarke winked. 

“If you wanted me to leave you alone, why didn’t you just say that?”

“Because I didn’t want you to leave me alone,” Clarke replied. 

Lexa stood with the blonde on the balcony for a long minute and eventually asked, “Can we go back inside? I stay out here much longer and we’re going to have to go back to the hospital.”

Clarke exhaled sharply through her nostrils, amused, and opened the door to let Lexa back inside. The brunette shuddered appreciatively at the warmth, and with the chill that passed up her spine went the last of the cold. 

“What is it that you want from me, Clarke?” Lexa asked. Clarke opened her mouth and Lexa cut in, “And please be honest with me- no sarcasm or anything because I’m pretty tired.” 

Clarke closed her mouth and rolled her eyes, considering how to not phrase it snidely as she was used to automatically doing.

“I want to try this again.”

“This?” 

“Us- our relationship, whatever you want to call it.” 

“Are you saying this because you’ve told me the truth?”

“No. I’m saying it because I want to actually get to know you and be around you. And… I’m hoping despite everything you reciprocate that?” Clarke said. 

“Why does that sound like a question?”

“Because I’m an asshole and that’s not really changing anytime soon and I’m pretty sure you’re still mad?” 

“I’m not mad, Clarke.”

“Oh thank God-”

“Just disappointed.”

“Oh, God, it’s like my father in the twenties.” 

“You were alive during the twenties?” 

“I’ve been around for a very long time. Basically, the twenties you’re thinking of may not be the twenties I’m thinking of, and we’ll leave it at that for now.” 

Lexa tilted her head at Clarke and asked, “Does this mean you’re going to be completely honest with me?”

“I wasn’t...not honest before. There were just a lot of...omitted details.” 

“That sounds like lying.”

“Is it lying if you didn’t know there was more to it to begin with?”

Lexa stared at the blonde until Clarke groaned and said, “Fine- yes, Lexa, I’ll be honest about whatever you ask within reason. There’s a lot of stuff I don’t really enjoy talking about and, well, a girl's gotta have her secrets.” 

“Really, Clarke?”

“I don’t see you spilling your guts about your sordid past,” Clarke pointed out. 

Lexa considered what she’d said and tilted her head. It was a fair point- the blonde knew very little about Lexa beyond who she was in the present. Perhaps opening up would be good for both of them. Still, Lexa felt she had the higher ground, even in regards to Clarke’s argument. “You never asked,” She pointed out.

“Could that be detail left out that I was never aware of?” Clarke asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Not asking about something isn’t the same as purposefully skirting around not telling.”

“Fair enough, for now.” Clarke tapped her shoe toe against the carpet before saying, “I should go. Let you rest up.” 

“But I want-” Lexa began.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lexa. You’re free to ask whatever you want whenever you want to,” Clarke smiled. Lexa felt herself return it and for once, there didn’t feel like there was a weight of secrets between them. True, neither neighbor knew much about the other, but it wasn’t like the door to the knowledge was locked anymore. Clarke, true to her word, left, and Lexa, true to hers, passed out for the night. 

The next morning, Lexa awoke, fairly certain that the previous night had been a dream with Titus’ jowl on her forehead. His throat rumbled as he snored, and Lexa was reminded of why she’d wanted to train him to sleep on the floor as a puppy. Of course, at 12 weeks old it’d been horribly difficult to say no to those puppy dog eyes, and Lexa thought there had been some truth after all to Raven’s words that she was indeed a pushover.

She sat up, wondering if the previous night had been a dream till she saw Clarke’s jacket neatly hung on the handle of her door, as if the Lexa of the previous night or however much time had passed wanted to make her aware of just how much it had not been a dream. She wondered how she would bridge the conversation with the blonde- what questions would be the most pertinent and which ones Clarke might not want to answer. 

Her phone buzzed almost immediately with a text, not from Clarke, but from Anya to see how Lexa was doing. While Lexa made coffee for herself and breakfast for Titus, she texted her back, almost missing the flash of gold from her balcony.

Clarke pulled herself over the rails, a drink carrier with two coffees in between her teeth. She paused, crouched atop the railing as she looked around, resembling a falcon. For as intently as she seemed to be looking, or perhaps listening, she didn't seem to take note of Lexa. Her search effectively rendering nothing, she climbed down, removing two bags from her jacket and placing the drinks in the same hand. It was curious to Lexa that Clarke hadn’t seemed to have seen her watching. As the blonde took out her phone, Lexa opened the door and Clarke jumped back, very nearly leaping off the balcony in an impressive vertical jump. She caught herself, her phone, the drinks, and the bags, all while balancing on the railing and glaring. “Fuck, Lexa! I could kill you!” She snarled. Coughing to clear her throat, she added in a much more normal tone, “With love.” 

“I’m guessing you don’t like surprises,” Lexa asked, cracking the door behind her so that Titus couldn’t run out. 

“No,” Clarke huffed. “I don't like fear. Surprises are fine.”

“Did you really not hear me? Or see me?”

“I heard you. Just...too well. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Those two things don’t make sense, Clarke.” 

Clarke tilted her head. “Have you ever listened for something really far away and then something’s all in your face and it’s way louder than it might be normally?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that.” 

“So you were focused on listening for something and then I walked out. What were you listening for?” 

“The ice cream man, Delinquents who might’ve needed help, the morning news, that one struggling rapper on 5th street who’s got some real talent but he has this crippling stage fright-”

“That’s...a lot to process,” Lexa noted. 

“I’m used to it,” Clarke shrugged. “It’s really easy to get caught up in normally.”

“And now?” 

She stared at Lexa, lowering to a crouch on the rails before replying, “I can hear the sound of your heart sending blood to your veins, the contraction of your lungs as you inhale and exhale, if I really pay attention, I can hear your hair growing."

“W-” Lexa lowered her voice to a whisper, “Wait, really?” 

Clarke grinned, a wide smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, and Lexa felt the overwhelming urge to push her off the balcony. 

She took one of the coffees out of the drink carrier and passed it to Lexa alongside a bag. 

"I tried to order you something healthy," She said quickly. Clarke watched as Lexa removed a single piece of whole grain toast from the bag that had gotten cool with the speed Clarke had transported it. She looked at Clarke and saw that the blonde was watching her reaction, though it wasn't quite in the messing with her way. She was watching to see if she’d done well. Lexa tried to decide if Clarke was fucking with her, and nodded once before putting the bread back into the bag. Clarke couldn't hide the slight frown that flitted over her mouth and Lexa knew her ambivalent reaction hadn't been the response Clarke had been looking for. She tested her coffee to see if it was any better and found it was black. 

“You ordered it black the one time we went out for coffee,” Clarke said, “so I ordered it that way.”

“Thank you,” Lexa said. She did prefer her coffee black and she could see Clarke was doing her best to at least seem considerate of her dietary preferences. Clarke grinned again, a less broad but no dimmer smile and said, “We should probably eat inside right?” 

Lexa, in lieu of a response, opened the sliding door and walked back inside, Clarke climbing off of her perch and following. She was considerate enough to close and lock the door behind her while Lexa asked, “So why not just knock on the front door? Someone could’ve seen you scaling a building.” 

Clarke opened her own bag to reveal a blueberry muffin alongside three cake pops. “You might’ve still been asleep. I didn’t wanna wake you up so I thought I would just come in using the balcony door since you don’t usually lock it and drop off your breakfast if you weren’t up.”

Lexa felt a chill pass up her spine as she realized she didn’t usually lock her balcony door and Clarke had very easily scaled the building to reach it. Clarke had admitted freely there were other creatures like her and Lexa doubted they were all friendly. Clarke continued, “And it’s not easy to see supernatural creatures, so no one would’ve seen me. Except you, I guess. Fuck, they messed up my name again.” 

Lexa blinked out of her thoughts and saw that Clarke was looking at the scribbled name on her bag that read ‘Clark’. Lexa asked, “Is that not how it’s spelled?” 

“C-l-a-r-k-e,” Clarke spelled out. “How did you think it was spelled?” 

Lexa shrugged. “A-s-s-h-o-l-e.”

“Low blow.” 

“And making fun of me when I know nothing about how your ability to hear works isn’t?” 

“Fine, had to break the ice somehow- we are going to be delving into secrets no human has heard in a solid amount of time.” 

“Is this another joke?” 

Clarke sighed and sat back on the couch, biting into her cake pop. “No. You feeling better?” She asked around a mouthful of soft cake mix. 

“I guess I’m okay. I’m terrified none of this has actually sunk in yet and I’ll have a mental breakdown when it does.” 

“Already? We haven't even talked about the lizard people,” Clarke shrugged, picking up the other cake pop to get started on it. “You won’t lose your mind, Lexa,” She promised.

“Why not?” 

“Because if you do you’ll have to see my Mom and neither of us wants to make a day of that.”

Lexa thought back to Abby’s physical therapy sessions. “Is that what she does? Handles people like me who find out about all of this?” 

“Partially. Memory wipes are within the scope of her job but she mostly helps Delinquents figure out their lives.” 

“You keep using that word ‘Delinquents’.” 

“It’s just a shorthand for supernatural creatures. Charlotte called them that when she told me I would be in charge of them and it’s just stuck.” 

Lexa furrowed her brow in confusion. “Charlotte- you’re in charge- what does any of that mean?” 

“It’s a stupid long story. Basically Charlotte’s an angel who came to me sometime in the forties-the forties you're thinking of- to give me a Divine Edict or whatever- you follow?” She asked as she bit into her cake pop. 

“Charlotte’s an angel who gave you an order from God,” Lexa said. 

“Mmm- not God,” Clarke corrected. “It-whatever ‘it’ is, doesn’t like to be referred to as God.” 

“So there’s no God?”

“I didn’t say that."

"So you're just taking orders from some little girl who claimed to be an angel for a thing that isn't God and randomly decided you were the best person to be in charge?"

"Look, you’re focusing on the wrong thing right now- God’s not important. They, whatever it is, isn't important.” 

“Okay? So Charlotte.” 

“Right. She told me I’d been ‘Chosen to watch over the outcasts, the shunned, the delinquents’, supernatural beings, basically. Initially I tried to ignore her- not my brightest moment, but after a few things happened I found myself in charge of supernatural creatures everywhere and now we’re here.”

“It sounds like you’ve skirted over a lot of details, Clarke.” 

“I have,” Clarke admitted as she bit into her muffin. “But I don’t want you getting overwhelmed.” 

“Why you, though? No offense but I wouldn’t trust you with a cinder block, never mind a community of creatures the world was never meant to know about.” 

“None taken and I don’t know. I certainly didn’t want the job, note the part where I mentioned ignoring Charlotte, but it just...happened. I haven't really gotten any feedback so I just take it that no news is good news.” 

Lexa decided she could take advantage of Clarke’s seemingly open door policy to ask, “How does your Mom erase people’s memories?” 

“She uses magic attuned to sound. Best way I could put it to you is like making a song. Different memories have different sounds and she splices bits concerning the supernatural with other songs to make it all vanish. Aspects of the other songs are distorted but no one has a perfect memory, so that's normal. But the need for any of that’s rare since humans don’t usually see us. Mostly she handles Delinquents adjusting to their new lives or getting medical attention.” 

“How do humans not see you? More magic?” 

Clarke nodded and finished off her muffin before answering, “It’s a combination of magic and focus. Humans aren’t attuned to looking for Delinquents and even if they were they usually don’t try. Everyone’s so focused on themselves or what other people are saying or doing they never notice what’s happening on the sidelines. Like how you never seemed to notice when I did vampire stuff because you were all caught up in the assumption I was normal.”

“But you said earlier that I was able to see you- am able to see you.” 

"That first meeting was...kind of an anomaly. Part of it was just random timing."

"And the other part?" Lexa asked, curious. 

Clarke’s eyes dropped to Lexa’s throat and the brunette was vaguely reminded of the night they kissed, how attentive to certain, more sensitive spots along her neck that Clarke had been. “You wanted to see me; I wanted to be seen."

Lexa could feel her cheeks starting to warm, so she moved on, “Do the men who were trying to get in your house have anything to do with that?” 

“ALIE goons. Religious ‘soldiers’ from all walks of life who believe vampires are the only threat humanity faces. They’ve been after me for a while.”

“How long?” 

Clarke smiled sardonically. “Too long. It’s terrifying to think of the headway humanity could make if they put that sort of fanatical energy into something worthwhile. Like space travel or synthetic blood.”

“Did you do something to provoke them?” 

“Not me personally. But vampires haven't always been as tamed or well hidden as I've managed to make them. Some people I know have done some pretty awful things. Still do, but I can't be everywhere at once," Clarke frowned and looked away from Lexa to get her drink. 

Lexa tried to absorb everything Clarke had told her- angels existed and there was a God but there wasn’t and Clarke was basically president of all things supernatural. Which was a terrifying thought unto itself. 

Clarke gently touched Lexa’s shoulder to get her attention and said, “Told you it was a lot,” before sipping her drink. “Still following?”

Lexa rubbed the sides of her forehead as she felt a headache forming at the implications and muttered, “Ow. I follow. So why aren’t you drinking blood or something? What kind of vampire are you?” 

Clarke drank her coffee before answering, “Holy shit, Lexa, you can’t just go around asking people what kind of vampire they are and- relax, I’m just screwing with you,” Clarke said when Lexa’s eyes began to widen. “First of all, have you tasted blood before? It’s disgusting. Especially people with high cholesterol.” Clarke’s nose wrinkled. “It’s like drinking an oily milkshake.” 

“Vampires hate blood?” 

“No, the newly changed and young ones can’t get enough of the stuff. They think the flavor’s great and it has uses- it gives a boost in strength, speed, healing, gives us access to memories, too bad about the part where it’s addictive and eventually drives you crazy.”

“So how does that equate to you being able to eat normal food and walk in the sunlight?” 

Clarke thought again for a long moment. “There’s a lot about it we don’t understand, but essentially the less you drink blood the closer you are to human with a lot more benefits. We’re physically weaker than a vampire that drinks blood constantly and slower. You have to eat a lot of food to maintain your abilities but you can walk in the sunlight, sleep, and you can hold a conversation without going for the throat. When you get older, you don’t have to eat as much, and you gain more benefits from not drinking blood. Not many of us get there, though. They get impatient.” 

“You don’t need blood then?”

“Flattering as I’m sure you would find it that I lusted after your blood every other second of the day, no,” Clarke replied. She yawned and stretched out, eventually asking, “What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what's your favorite color, why do you not care about the fact that I'm a vampire, that sort of thing.” 

“Clarke, I still have a lot of questions,” Lexa said.

“I know. And I’m bored of talking about myself.” Clarke sighed. Lexa sensed Clarke wasn’t interested in the subject and doubted she would get anything else if she pursued it, so for the time being, she let it drop. Clarke pressed, “So, tell me about you.” 

Lexa leaned against the couch. “There isn’t a lot to tell,” She replied. “And even if there was, you’ve probably heard it before.”

“That doesn’t mean it matters any less. Where are you from?”

“I don’t know. My Dad was military. We moved around a lot and then settled in the woods.” 

“The woods?” Clarke asked. “Not even a specific set of them? Just some forest in the void?”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “He bought some cabin out in the middle of nowhere Maine and I was home schooled for the first twelve years of my life.” 

“Sounds lonely,” Clarke noted insightfully. 

Lexa shrugged. “Not really. There wasn’t anyone around for me to get to know besides Anya’s family.” Lexa didn’t add that she’d failed to make a human friend who wasn’t related to her until she was sixteen or so. 

“What did you do for fun?” 

“Wood carving, running, swimming, fishing, trapping, hand to hand combatives, bow hunting for a little while.”

“Did you actually like any of those things?” 

“I liked whittling, working out, but everything else involved killing something and I wasn’t really into that.” 

Clarke blinked at her as her knee began to jump. “What about pets? Did you have a dog, like Titus?” She asked, trying to brighten things up. 

“Sure. A rabbit named Anne. My Dad let me raise her for a while, and then he made me leave her outside. He had me watched her get killed by a hawk because she didn’t know to run away.”

“That’s fucked up,” Clarke said with a very worried expression on her face. 

“A lot of stuff my Dad did was like that. He just wanted to teach me the value of life, I guess.” 

“That’s not how I would go about it.” 

“I mean, most people do something like that anyway- getting their kid a pet.” 

“Is that what he told you to justify it?” Clarke asked, leaning on her side to look at Lexa. Lexa's gaze met Clarke's and she could almost feel the blonde searching her for some sign of vulnerability, some crack in the mask she'd constructed. The brunette shrugged again- it wasn’t really something she thought about anymore and if she thought about it in her adult life, it was only at brief intervals. There was something about being around Clarke that reminded Lexa at times of Anne- the aura of a situation telling her to run but she didn't know how to, or why.

Clarke nodded slowly and stood up with a sigh. “Let’s go.” 

“Go where?” 

“I don’t know- to do something. This is just depressing.”

“You asked.”

“Your childhood sounds a lot like mine and I’m old enough that those similarities shouldn’t overlap,” Clarke said as she moved to Lexa’s bedroom. “It’s pitiful. In a ‘not your fault’ kind of way.”

Lexa followed, saying, “Rude, also, you keep mentioning how old you are but you’ve never really given me a time frame-” Clothes flew out at Lexa’s face, interrupting whatever else she had been prepared to say. Clarke had found her way into the brunette’s closet and walked out holding a pair of running shoes. She placed them down before brushing past Lexa to get Titus' harness. 

“We’re going out,” She declared.

“Where?” Lexa asked. 

“To make up for your childhood!” Clarke declared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My privileges should have been revoked by now.


	15. That's a Man!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give thanks to the people who left kudos and comments, I give thanks to those who just left a read, I give thanks to tiger balm for healing everything but the existential panic.

“This isn’t necessary, Clarke,” Lexa said for what must have been the third time. 

“Uh huh,” Clarke said before continuing to hum with the tune the radio played. 

The pair were in Clarke’s surprisingly modern Porsche. It was the pinnacle of engineering, with a speedometer whose numbers kissed the two hundred and tens...and Clarke refused to go any higher than a mile over the speed limit, if that. In fact, the blonde usually went two miles under, and would stop if it even seemed like someone was thinking of crossing the street. All in all, it made riding along a special kind of Hell, and Lexa couldn’t decide if Clarke really was just that dedicated to traffic safety or if she liked fucking with the people who honked at her and spewed obscenities when they swerved around her. If her small smile the entire time was anything to go off of, it was probably a little of both. 

“What is it you plan to do?” Lexa pressed.

“Show you a good time to make up for the lack thereof during your youth.” Clarke wrinkled her nose. “‘Thereof’, ‘youth’. I’m spending too much time with you.”

“Clarke, I’m not someone who lets childhood experiences shape who I am today.”

“Yeah you are. Don’t feel bad, though, everyone is. Childhood’s usually the foundation of your lifelong behaviors, values and principals.” 

“I don’t need you to try to fix something that you had no part of,” Lexa snipped. “I’m not helpless, I don’t need your pity.” 

Clarke stopped the car to let an old woman cross the street and asked, “Wasn’t it you who said you can’t always know what you need?” 

“That doesn’t imply you know, either.” 

Clarke smirked, “Is it hard walking with a stick that far up your ass?”

“I don’t have a stick up my ass just because I’m being honest.” 

“How do you normally relax?” 

“Usually a long run is enough to do it. Getting my heart going,” Lexa admitted. 

Clarke tsked, “Can’t relate,” and made a slow right down a road Lexa hadn't seen before. Lexa stared at her until Clarke sighed and said, “Closed mouths don’t get fed, Lexa, if you have a question you should ask.”

Lexa had a number of questions, some that felt far too invasive, others that felt like they wouldn’t be suitably answered by Clarke, who saw fit to sidestep details she deemed ‘unimportant’ or ‘overwhelming’. It wasn’t so much that Lexa didn’t appreciate the filter- she was sure there were decades worth of minutiae Clarke didn’t think pertinent for her to know, but there was a double edge to that, details the blonde found unimportant passing completely unnoticed that could’ve been pivotal to Lexa connecting the dots. And then there was the blonde herself- how many times had she had to reinvent herself? How many people had she had to push away? She seemed like she had a great many friends so maybe it was the novelty of Lexa being a human in the know that made the blonde so attached to her. Lexa wanted to ask why it was so important to Clarke that she was in her life, but she doubted the blonde fully understood it either.

Eventually, she asked, “What do you want to do with the Delinquents? Do you even have a goal?”

“I’d like to see them not maul each other. After that...I don’t know. I’m sure you want me to make some whole speech about how ‘Delinquents and humans should coexist in harmony’ or whatever but that’s not how it works.” 

“Why not?”

Clarke drummed the steering wheel and replied, “Don’t worry about that right now. We’re supposed to be relaxing, right?” 

It hadn’t really occurred to Lexa that Clarke considered the comings and goings of regulating her world as work or a source of stress. Lexa had to walk and feed Titus but she didn’t really consider those work or chores. Then again, it was difficult to compare a whole community of supernatural creatures to walking a dog. Perhaps, Lexa thought, that was why Clarke enjoyed her company so much- because it was something different, easier than what she was accustomed to. 

Clarke eventually parked in a parking garage and climbed out of the car, opening the door for Lexa with a smile. “I could get it myself,” Lexa said. 

Clarke sighed, “You know, Lexa, not every act of civility is a comment on your weakness.” 

“I’m not weak. I’m financially independent, I own my own business, I have a dog, I’m in good health-”

“But you aren’t happy- are you?” Clarke asked, stopping in the parking garage to look at Lexa. 

Lexa scoffed, while the blonde lowered her dark aviators so that blue eyes seemed to pierce her soul. “Life isn’t about being happy,” Lexa said, finally. 

Clarke smirked and began to circle the brunette and Titus, eventually settling in front of Lexa. “And what is life about, then?” 

The question was quiet, but then again, so was the parking garage. Lexa felt like she and Clarke were the only two people in the structure. Lexa blinked, suddenly unsure of herself, of the blonde, of where they were. How many turns had the blonde taken? What had she seen on the way there? Were there any landmarks? 

“Where are we, Clarke?” Lexa asked, her head hurting. Clarke stepped closer to her, removing her glasses, and Lexa felt frozen in place as she raised a hand up to cup Lexa’s cheek, her cool palm gentle on her skin. She tilted her head, her usual quips absent as her thumb lightly traced down the curve of Lexa’s cheek to rest on her lower lip. There was something tender about it, the way Clarke looked at her, handled her like Lexa might break, something that made Lexa’s insides recoil but simultaneously felt like it wasn’t enough. 

When Lexa breathed again, she was gasping for air and Clarke was standing four feet away, checking her phone. Lexa found that her body was soaking wet, and Titus was as well. She blinked and asked, “What was that, Clarke?!” 

“I told you what it was. Don’t you remember?” 

“We were in a parking garage!” 

“Is that what you thought it was?” Clarke grinned. 

“Clarke- explain it and why I’m wet!” 

“Okay. I call it the in-between. You would call it something fancy and over complicated like ‘interplanar liminal space’. To which I would call you a nerd.” 

Lexa thought over what Clarke had called it and asked, “What’s it for?” 

“Hiding things. Delinquents, specifically,” Clarke replied, tucking her phone in her pocket. She moved close to Lexa, strangely sober and dry as she asked, “How are you feeling?” 

“I-” Lexa stopped herself as she took account of how she was actually doing. Her skin tingled, as though some fine mist had settled over it. She felt on edge, like she was being watched. When she told Clarke all of it, the blonde nodded. “I figured. We won’t stay long enough for anyone to notice,” She promised, holding an arm out to Lexa with an easy smile. 

After she looped her arm around the blonde’s, Clarke walked with her. Lexa looked around the sidewalk, the street, and found that it was empty. In fact, the city itself was entirely different than anything she’d ever seen- the buildings crumbled and dilapidated with time, overgrown with greenery that Titus was thrilled to sniff at. 

“What is this place?” Lexa asked. 

“Hm...around Baltimore. Around the same area we were at before we went into the in-between. But not. The world has layers...like a digital painting but less malleable. You live here but you don’t live _here_,” Clarke tried to explain. 

“So what lives here?” Lexa asked. 

“Nymphs, nature spirits. Did you read any mythology as a kid?” 

“Some but my father didn’t think it was smart to encourage a fascination with things that didn’t exist.” 

Clarke frowned and sighed, “Fat good of luck that did you, huh? I guess I could stop a water spirit from drowning you.” 

“As long as it doesn’t put a wrinkle in your schedule.” 

“Only if you ask nicely,” Clarke grinned. 

There were a series of giggles as wood detached from the trees with cracks and splinters. Titus barked and backed into Lexa, growling as the wood reformed itself into four women- all with skin tones varying from olive to mahogany, all with bright green eyes that beheld Lexa and Clarke with overt curiosity. Some of their skin still resembled wood-primarily areas which would otherwise be inappropriate to display, thankfully, and their limbs, to various degrees, seemed elongated. Lexa hadn't seen anything quite like them before and she toed a line between fascinated and terrified because the sharp teeth hidden just behind full lips hadn't escaped her notice, either.

“Ladies,” Clarke greeted them. 

“Who’s your friend?” One of them asked. She had brown hair, lighter skin than the others, and looked suspicious of Lexa. 

“Lexa, Emori, Emori, Lexa. We’re just making the rounds,” Clarke assured Emori. 

She eyed Lexa cautiously but seemed to accept Clarke’s words. The blonde continued, “How are things here?” 

“Fine for now. The sirens and the water nymphs are having a rough time getting along.” 

“Weird considering how they both like luring men to their deaths,” Clarke sighed. “I’ll talk to them and figure out a place to relocate if that doesn’t smooth it out. Are you guys good?” 

“We were considering traveling to see the other climates this place has to offer.” 

Behind the pitch black glasses Lexa could see Clarke close her eyes for a few seconds before she opened them to reply, “I see. If it's all the same to you, I could use you in my place to help Raven out.”

"Is Raven alright?" Emori asked in a way that was overtly concerned and served to make Lexa tilt her head.

"She's fine, she's just been busy recently and I want to give her the time to herself. Think your people can stay stable while you're gone?"

It was Emori's turn to tilt her head though she was more confused than speculative, and evntually she straightened, making her choice. She replied, "They'll have to."

"Great. We'll discuss this more later but I'll give you time to get things together. Do you think you could grab some lunch for Lexa and me?"

Emori nodded and spoke to the other women in a language Lexa couldn’t understand. Clarke leaned close to her and clarified, “Ancient Greek and a bit of woodspeak.” 

Emori and her companions vanished into the trees they'd emerged from as Lexa asked, “What’s woodspeak?” 

“For Nymphs it’s nonverbal communication using rustles, occasionally pollen or creaks to communicate. Most Delinquents have some kind of variation of language they use to fill in what their usual language can’t. Fun fact- Werewolves have a whole series of whines that’s like one word for the feeling of intense abandonment you get when a loved one leaves you and you don’t know why.” 

“That doesn’t sound very fun.” 

“Abandonment usually isn’t. I hope you brought bags for Titus,” Clarke pointed out politely. Luckily, Lexa was always prepared. 

After disposing of the bag properly, as close to proper a she hoped it got in a world of Nymphs, she asked Clarke, “So why am I wet?” 

“That’s part of moving between places. It’s easier to travel through a liquid than a solid. Well, it’s actually easier to just fall through it but I don’t think you or Titus would’ve appreciated that very much.” 

“But we weren’t anywhere near water.” 

“Not that you remember- the in-between tends to fuck with your memory and perception of time.”

“So what I’ve taken from this day is that you’re in charge of all supernatural creatures and when you want to talk to them you just jump off a building and reappear where you want to go.” 

“See, if I had put it like that you would be mad at me.” 

“I wouldn’t be mad!” Lexa defended. “Just confused.” 

“You tend to get angry when you’re confused. I think it’s cute, though.” 

Lexa ignored Clarke’s choice of adjective and asked, “So...if all of these layers exist...how do humans know about any of these things? Werewolves, vampires, nymphs?”

“They used to all live on the same plane as you. Funny thing is, all of these planes have existed basically forever but no one knew how to navigate the in-between safely to guide Delinquents through them.” 

“Except you,” Lexa said. 

Clarke shook her head. “I didn’t know at first. I had to ask a guy I knew about it and even then I got lost a lot when I found it.”

“But you figured it out.”

“Eventually. Time moves differently in the in-between and it’s a lot easier to learn stuff when you don’t need air, water, food, or sleep. But even now, there’s still a lot of stuff I don’t understand.”

“Like?” 

Clarke scrunched up her nose. “Fuck, I don’t know- 42? Infinity? Why you’re still single? Why I’m still single?” 

Lexa rolled her eyes as Emori came back with food for Lexa and Clarke in a glass bowl. It consisted primarily of fruit and fresh bread, which seemed like it would do the trick for a nice lunch. Clarke walked Lexa over to one of the parks Lexa recalled and sat down with her on a bench overlooking the pond. They ate while a group of water nymphs sang to one another, breaking down into giggles when one hit a note too high or low. 

“Is this okay?” Clarke asked. Lexa looked over to see that she’d taken a bite of bread but looked at Lexa earnestly. “I mean...maybe it isn't slaying a dragon or something like you would be into” She sat back. “Personally I’ve always thought this place was-”

“Clarke,” Lexa interrupted. The blonde looked over to her and raised her sunglasses up to her forehead as Lexa assured her, “It’s perfect.”

Clarke sighed, relaxed, and continued eating the bread. Lexa could taste that same hint of almost static. When she asked Clarke about it, she shrugged and said, “It’s magic. You can sense it, probably because you’re something like...1/8th Elf…? It’s a guess but I doubt you know your own family tree.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“The language you and Anya speak- it’s a Wood Elf dialect. It’s been even more diluted by its use in the human plane, but the spirit’s there. And sort of how you smell.” 

Lexa stared at Clarke until the blonde noticed and she said, “What? I’m being serious. Have you never thought it weird no one knows that language?” 

“What was that part about smell? You smell me?” 

“Oh.” Clarke brushed her hair back bashfully from her forehead. “You smell like a wood elf.”

“How do they smell?” 

“Um...I don’t know? Woodsy? Look, Lexa, if I was good with words I’d be an author, not an artist. I speak through what I do.” 

“You must be a nightmare for the blind.” 

Clarke snorted, almost choking on her piece of bread before she assured Lexa, “Nah, just a nightmare in general.” 

After sharing a quiet lunch, it was time to go back, or so Clarke said. “The longer we stay in places that aren’t your home the more things become aware that you’re human and you’re here and not everything is as friendly as I am.” 

“Are you friendly?” Lexa asked. 

“I’m tolerable,” Clarke admitted. Clarke offered a hand to Lexa, which the brunette took. She pulled Lexa closer to her, ran her thumb over Lexa’s knuckles thoughtfully.

“Clarke, what are you-”

“You never answered my question. What’s your life about if it’s not to be happy?” Clarke asked. She watched Lexa like she was the most important thing she’d ever witnessed. Like the words that struggled to formulate in Lexa’s thoughts would be the end all be all of her existence. Lexa managed to eventually choke out an answer from somewhere deep within her. 

"Survival."

That was it, wasn't it? Everything in Lexa had been cultivated by nature and nurture to cling to the life she'd been given. Everything she'd done,she would've done with the interest of survival. Clarke stared at her again with the look, not quite pity but...what had she been talking about? She looked down at Lexa's hand, opened her mouth like she was about to say something more, and Lexa sat up out of her tub gasping for air while Titus ran into the bathroom to jump into the bathtub with her to make sure she wasn’t drowning. 

“Titus!” Lexa coughed between the large pitbull trying to lick her with relief that she wasn't dead and the water that splashed on her and the floor as a result. At least the water was warm. Lexa climbed out and stripped off her clothes, muttering about how she would demand Clarke get a bell or some kind of device to warn her about the abrupt passage through the in-between. It seemed like the blonde had left Lexa in her apartment after their little foray into a different plane. Lexa saw it had been almost five hours that she'd spent out with the blonde, which was surprising, since it felt like her time with the nymphs had only been two, max. She didn't examine it too closely, though, or what she could recall from her time with Clarke. When she’d changed she heard a brief knock on her door, and opened it to see a man with short cropped gray hair, dressed casually with his hands clasped in front of him. Though he seemed at ease, there was something dangerous about him that Lexa felt a particular disdain for. 

He asked, “Lexa Woods?” 

“Who wants to know?” Lexa returned. 

He smiled at Lexa the way many people do when a question, even a dodged one, is answered anyway. “Carl Emerson, I’m a representative of Mount Weather and Associates.”

Lexa felt a little more relaxed, dealing with something that was finally in her wheelhouse. “Why are you here? I’ve told the Mountain I’m not going to sell to you.” 

“I’m here about the ‘Associates’ part. Maybe you’ve heard of ALIE?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that not how Thanksgiving works?


	16. What a Twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much has happened.

Clarke Griffin was not dumb. Granted, she enjoyed making dumb choices- some part of her had to for how often she made them- but she wasn’t stupid. It was hard to be after wandering the earth for as long as she had. The patterns in behavior became more obvious year after year, the faces, sounds, tastes and smells all blending to the point where she saw people as other people and built her behavior based off of that. Raven had been a young inventor she’d met in France sometime in the 1800s with bright ideas and a bombastic personality, Octavia had been a young girl with bright eyes whose charred body she held after the residents of Salem had gotten liberal with their definition of kindling, Bellamy had been a headstrong and charming politician with a pretty wife and unpopular ideas to the wrong people, the list went on and on. 

But Clarke didn’t have a placeholder for Lexa. And that bothered her, made her feel new and stupid all over again. When things bothered Clarke- things she couldn't play peacekeeper for, ignore, or fight- she tended to give in to the idea that perhaps the issue was worth mulling over.

There had been a time when Clarke went to the in-between to think; something about being face to face with the infinite never failed to put her problems into perspective. Of course, the occupants hadn't been very big fans of her intrusion. So in recent weeks she’d taken to sitting on a park bench with a hot dog in front of a pond she’d known since before it was a pond. She found herself there after dropping Lexa off back at her place to start on the long list of things she had to do over the next few days. Considering it, and her situation, she bit into the meat and bun without really tasting them as she thought of wavy brown hair, dark green eyes that watched Clarke like they were engaged in a game of chess, a lean build of toned muscle she wanted to drag her fangs over- Clarke stopped herself but he couldn’t stop the reflexive motion of her tongue running over the dull tips of her canines, gums aching as her real teeth wanted to extend. 

She wasn’t supposed to think of Lexa like that- wasn’t supposed to flirt with her or drool over the sharpness of her jawline or think of what an excellent reference she'd make. That wasn’t what friends did, and that wasn’t what a ‘better’ Clarke did. But Clarke couldn’t resist trying to get Lexa to blush, smile, to get that angry flush or rub her throat with thought. She couldn’t resist telling her often how ‘cute’ or ‘adorable’ she was because she doubted the statuesque woman ever heard those words from someone who wasn’t belittling her; but Clarke couldn’t substitute them with the words she really wanted to use. 

Clarke, not for the first time, found herself between a metaphorical rock and a hard place. A position of cognitive dissonance, dearest reader. She could likely keep dodging questions- Lexa was perceptive but she couldn't know everything or constantly ask the right things. The more blind she was, the less expectation there was that Lexa would ever need to be turned. If she could keep being a good friend, Lexa would probably just die before she ever had to make that choice. 

Of course, instead of being comforted Clarke's mind jumped to the brunette's funeral- seeing her withered body like plastic, white hair and make up done in a mockery of life no more tangible than Clarke's heartbeat. The casket being lowered into the ground in front of a neat gravestone while she stayed off in the distance, a silent observer and the only one who would carry Lexa's memory in perfect detail. Maybe Lexa would surprise her and opt for cremation. Clarke, in the midst of travelling down her own macabre rabbit hole, hadn't noticed her grip around the hot dog had tightened to crush it to the point that the middle was little more than mush in her palm, while the sides that remained whole had fallen off into her lap. 

Clarke tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and groaned. 

She was not a good friend. 

"Thinking of her?" A familiar voice asked. Clarke opened her eyes and turned her head to look at Jasper, who had a bag of corn kernels for the ducks that still occupied the pond in the late evening. 

"What's it matter to you?" Clarke asked moodily. 

“I like to make sure I can still read people. Keeps me grounded,” He said before tossing a handful of kernels. It made sense for a reaper and a vampire to be friends, Clarke thought, since they both were exempt from death, and Jasper had proven reliable when he wasn’t interested in getting drunk or high. “You don’t have to answer. I know when you’re thinking about death.” 

Clarke sighed, “When was the last time you got laid?” 

“Can’t remember. I can remember the last time I was laid to rest.” He turned to look at Clarke with an all too pleased smile on his face and Clarke slapped his arm, appreciative of his company even if his optimism was lacking. “Do you wanna know how it happens?” He offered. 

“No.” 

“You like leaving things up to chance. I can respect a gamble.” 

“It’s more like...it’s her business and I’ll see it when I see it.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“Jasper, I basically hate every vampire I know.”

“What about your Dad?” 

“He’s dead so I don’t think he counts.” 

Jasper shrugged. “I’d count it. But that’s just me.” 

Clarke popped her neck and sighed. “I’m stuck.” 

“How?” 

“I want more than a fucking friend, a friend or a fuck. I mean...I thought just sleeping with her me get over whatever this is but then she had to turn it down and be all understanding,” she scoffed. “And now the inbetween.” 

“What about it?” 

Clarke sighed. “Not the in-between. I’m talking about this stupid purgatory.” 

“I’ve been to purgatory.”

“I don’t want to fuck this up- I mean, the last person I was in a relationship with basically torments me now.” 

“You think about this a lot.” 

“This is my thinking place.” 

“It’s a nice one. Minus the vengeful spirits.” 

Clarke blinked, unsure if Jasper was being honest or screwing with her. “Anyway, think less. Everyone’s time here’s limited. Even yours.” 

“Is this your way of telling me I’m going to die soon?” 

“I can’t tell that anymore. But life’s not worth living like you’re dead, you know?” 

Clarke decided that trying to unwrap that frankly vacuous thought wasn’t really worth her time, so she took the sentiment at face value. 

“Where are you going?” Jasper asked. 

“I’ve got work I have to handle tonight- Lexa can’t really take up all of my time."

“Well, okay. Don’t forget the brownies,” He said, before returning to trying to feed the ducks. 

Clarke’s nights and days since Charlotte had come to her bathed in glowing light had been filled with acting like a mother to people and creatures that, in her opinion, should’ve been able to function like the adults they usually were. Tonight, she was going to help Thelonious Jaha- an old werewolf- settle a territorial dispute that he needed her longevity for. Frankly, Clarke was beginning to regret that she’d let the wolves stay in the human plane. She’d allowed her heart strings to be tugged on when they told her how many of them had mates, families, lives in this plane and she couldn’t have very easily gotten them all out without anyone noticing. But given that they tended to breed more like rabbits than wolves they would soon become a problem for her and the wider human population. But that created its own problems- how would they breed and live if they didn't have genetic diversity? How would they develop in a plane devoid of society and rules apart from Clarke's monthly visitation? It was a logistical nightmare that it hurt her head just to think about.

A burst of super speed- which was basically a taxi since Clarke enjoyed the novelty of taking her time when she could- brought her in front of Raven, who smelled heavily like metal, a hint of perfume mixed with cigarettes, the woods, and an almost overbearing amount of werewolf musk. Clarke didn’t have a particularly strong sense of smell for a vampire- her hearing was far more developed- but being close enough usually gave her an idea of what she was up against. Raven, in addition to being a werewolf, had been in the den for about an hour. The smell was noxious in its pungency to Clarke, who gagged as Raven asked, “What? Do I smell?”

“Yeah,” Clarke wheezed. “I should only have a couple of things with you tonight.” 

Raven shrugged. “Sounds good. Anya wanted to go bowling tomorrow.”

“Have you told her about your better half yet?” Clarke asked, holding her breath to avoid gagging again. It should’ve felt uncomfortable but Clarke had long since grown accustomed to things that ‘should have been’ not happening. 

Raven looked down at her shoes, a rough whine in the back of her throat. “No,” She said. “I keep worrying about what'll happen if we stay over at each other's places- like if she'll catch me whimpering or growling in my sleep or that I shop for groceries every day-” 

"Or that you have a cage in your basement?"

"Yeah, that too. Maybe I could move it to the shed?" She considered.

“I mean...things are different for you, you know? There's not really a consequence to her knowing. Plus you can’t really help it that she’s your soulmate or whatever,” Clarke was more than a little bitter about the fact that if she wanted a serious relationship she had to dish out immortality but where weres were concerned they could opt out of the whole ‘turning their partner into a monster’ business. Of course, she did enjoy the benefit of not painfully turning into a giant bloodthirsty dog once a month, so that was nice.

“It’s not ‘or whatever’, Clarke!” Raven growled, flashing canines that were looking awfully...well, canine.

Clarke stared at Raven until she understood that she’d crossed a line and said, “You should see Octavia sooner than later for that Wolfsbane elixir. And maybe stay away from any werewolves for the next few weeks.” 

Raven scoffed. “I wouldn't be around them now if you hadn't asked.” Raven was a bit of a black wolf among her kind, not so much unlike Clarke. She disliked the idea of bonding with people blindly, or the concept of a mate and being ruled by excessive hormones. Essentially the foundation of most werewolves.

"Well, the next bit of news I have should make that easier. I asked Emori if she'd be cool with coming here to help out while you took some time to yourself."

Raven grinned- had her tail been exposed, it would've been wagging. But her enthusiasm vanished, replaced with skepticism and she asked, "Was she planning to travel again?"

Clarke looked away and ran her hand through her hair as she muttered, "Maybe?"

"Clarke, everyone you moved is going to want to explore at some point."

"I know, but I can't devote years to playing Columbus to make sure they don't hurt themselves in some alternate plane."

"Can't or won't because something is limiting your time?"

"Like having to babysit humanity and every Delinquent I haven't moved? Can't imagine what a time sink that would be," Clarke said with a roll of her eyes, sidestepping the accusation that hit a little too close to home for her liking. 

Raven sighed and said, "Okay, Clarke. But Emori's our friend. You shouldn't keep her in the dark."

"I won't leave her out- this is just...easier."

"Easier for who?"

"Everyone for now," Clarke sighed. "Come on, let's get this done."

With that, they headed into the bar, Raven flipping on the charm so that all of the wolves were set somewhat at ease by the presence of something familiar. Clarke, for her part, wandered behind Raven, her hands tucked in the pockets of her jacket. The werewolves became silent at the sight of her, and the already tense air was brought up several notches. Raven was quick to move among them, settling the atmosphere with a couple of quiet words and a demand for another round of drinks on her.

Thelonious sat at the bar, and had already ordered a fruity drink with what Clarke hoped contained a bottle of vodka for the blonde. He greeted Clarke with a smile and a tight hug that, coming from anyone else, would have resulted in their throat being ripped out. Still might’ve, Clarke mentally corrected, since she’d found out about Jaha’s involvement with her mother covering up her father’s second passing. But that was a bridge to burn some other day when she wasn’t surrounded by beefy people with notorious tempers. 

“Clarke, Wells told me you stopped by his place,” He smiled as though her interaction with his charismatic son meant that her self-imposed isolation from him was over. 

“I had business there- a favor for a friend and to make my yearly check-in."

"Maybe we could get a meal together once this business with Pike is done?" He asked, so obviously hopeful that Clarke had buried whatever had spiked her animosity to him it almost made Clarke forget that he’d been the cause of it. 

“I’ve got a bit more to do tonight. Some other time,” Clarke replied amicably. It wasn’t a complete lie, but then again, the best ones never were. 

Pike barely deigned a grunt in her direction and Clarke sat between them at the bar while Raven moved to keep the peace between the members. Of course, she wasn’t against quietly dragging someone outside if a fight seemed inevitable. Clarke appreciated it even as it left her without someone to keep her engaged in the back and forth between the two pack leaders that spanned back to a time before they were born. Eventually, she sighed, stretched, and said, "Well, gentlement, I can say with full confidence it belongs to neither of you. I was around when both of your packs started up in the New World and the land in fact belonged to a small native american pack that’s since migrated to the northwest. Which is to say, unless you want to travel there and get me legal documentation of them signing over the land free of duress, you’re wasting your collective time. And before you ask, I have never nor will I ever, accept the severed heads of rival pack leaders as sufficient evidence of the transfer.” 

Pike slammed a fist on the bar hard enough to almost spill Clarke's drink, but she was quick. Quicker than a werewolf, anyway. "You're a damn fool if you think you can rob my pack of our land," He growled. 

"Clarke, you know that land belongs to my pack-" Jaha started. 

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose. "I've told you both the truth. You know the consequences if you start something over this. Can't you just bury this and work together on something beneficial? Like teaching the younger werewolves to control their shifts? Or repairing the old church you both argued about last year?" 

The pair fell quiet and it was obvious to Clarke they had not, in fact, thought of that. Which on the grand scheme of things was disappointing but not surprising. "You're supposed to be leaders, doing what's best for your communities. Maybe you should act like it," She finished, determining she'd had enough inter-species bickering to last her the next hour until she likely had to face it again. She finished off her drink, settling a few more minor debates about celebrations and minor encroachments until the allotted time she'd designated for the pack leaders ran out, thankfully, and it was time to say her farewells. 

Pike, funnily enough, was the one to pull her aside to a corner to say, "You can't keep playing neutral." 

"Oh? And here I thought that was my whole job. You know, stopping you from ripping out each other's throats," She drawled. 

Pike glared. "You know as well as I do something's going to give. One of these days someone's going to go too far. You'll have to do things you don't like." 

Clarke nodded slowly as though actually considering what he had to say, and evenly replied, "I hope for your sake that isn't a threat, Pike." She wasn't in the mood to remind Pike that none of what she'd done for the sake of his survival was something she 'liked' but there was more at stake than personal preference. Her own threat was thinly veiled and though Clarke preferred to keep the peace her own history of bloodshed was far from hidden. It was enough for Pike to move away, giving her space to leave the bar. She walked out, Raven close on her heels, and moved onto the next task of her night. 

A part of her thought about how this had been her life for a long time and she hadn't really minded it even as she harbored a special distaste for petty minutiae. Leadership gave her purpose, direction, and a collar to keep her in line. If idle hands were the devil's playthings then a rudderless Elder vampire was essentially the antichrist. Of course, Clarke looked forward to the lagging moments that she could spend doing things she actually liked- few and far between as those times were despite her attempts to delegate. Her next task was less pleasant, and the bar had already been low. Bodies deposited hastily in the woods, the dirt barely covering them- it was messy and rushed. Raven looked down at the impromptu burial grounds and gave a light sniff- her senses were better with it being closer to the full moon. She reported, “Not werewolves.” 

“Fae? Elf? Lizards? Wendigo? Those three gremlins in a long coat that stole twenty bucks from me?” Clarke asked, thinking of everything she’d encountered in the local area.

“Smells like regular humans with a lot of silver on them.” 

Clarke frowned and crouched down to inspect them more closely. No identification, not even a wallet, and when she checked the backs of their necks she could see they belonged to ALIE-the group gave all of its members a telltale injection after initiation to the back of the neck- a small dose of silver, among other things, to test that they were human. She’d neglected to mention to Lexa that her relationship with the group was as complicated as hers was with the brunette, minus the fact that Lexa hadn’t tried to kill her. Yet. It was one that changed with the leadership- some were peaceful, acknowledging the Compact she’d formed with the Founder to let her take care of her business and they could step in if a boundary was overstepped. Those were calmer decades. The others were bloodthirsty and constantly looked for new ways to irritate the blonde by being ‘proactive in the protection of humanity’. Most of that usually involved hunting her or using her to 'cull the weak'. Like she was some mindless animal in a pit.

“What a bunch of assholes,” She sighed. She stood straight up and noticed Raven beginning to yawn. “You should head back. I’ll see if I can track down Murphy to tell me something about this. ALIE hasn’t experimented on its members so sloppily in a while.” 

“You think it’s connected to anything?”

“Probably just the usual but it doesn't really hurt to be cautious with human fanatics. Ask Octavia and around the other covens to see if we missed something. And for the love of God- find Atom. Bellamy’s sick of being a cat.” 

“He’s the one who attacked him after he caught him in bed with O,” Raven shrugged, determining the punishment fit the response. 

“Let me rephrase that- I don't want to continue to have his naked body all over my furniture." Some of it had fetched quite a high price on the bidding and, fond as Clarke was of the idea of having a pet, the knowledge that Bellamy was a grown man stuck in the body of a house cat was never far from her mind.

Raven scoffed. “Fine- be careful with Murphy when you find him.” 

Clarke grinned. “Am I ever not?” 

Clarke's bulleted list took a little over three days days. It wasn't unusual for it to take much longer, considering she had several planes and a whole city's worth of Delinquents to attend to. By the end of it, she was sore and mentally exhausted. Most of it had been checking in to see how various Delinquents were settling, some were territorial disputes, one was helping a succubus find a job that suited her love for accounting with her natural feeding inclinations. Another had been breaking up an underground gnome fight club and Clarke couldn't recall a time she'd gotten her shins kicked more. 

Sadly, her search for answers without Murphy's aid hadn't yielded much. ALIE had bought out a few new businesses that had discretionary ties to silver imports, but that was nothing new, either. Clarke had suspected they would when she'd seen that the men who'd attacked Lexa hadn't had any silver bullets on them. It did confirm they were gearing up for something though. The question was how to figure it out without wandering into a trap. When she got back to her place, it was early in the morning and had been roughly four days since she'd seen her friend. Even as she went about emptying Bellamy's litter box, replacing his feeder, and taking a shower, she listened to Lexa's heartbeat as well as whatever movie she'd put on- both slow and steady. Eventually she decided she would go talk to her- explain her absence, catch up on what Lexa had been up to, the usual...friendly thing to do. Standing outside, she took a moment to compose herself, brushing her fingers messily through her hair and rubbing her hands together like she was getting ready to compete. Friend, she reminded herself as she nodded and knocked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so little of it is pertinent. Like a haircut.


End file.
